Two Lazy Harlots, One Grape

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs against your hair.

Uh oh. You tilt your head up slightly, and he leans back to meet your gaze.

“What do you mean?” You ask softly, stalling.

A wry smile plays in the corner of his mouth. “You’re mini-hyperventilating on me.”

You snap your mouth shut. Whoops.

“‘S the matter?” His voice is still peaceful, but the smile fades from his face.

You swallow hard. “Um. Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you sigh. Ah. You notice the shakiness to your breathing now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, hiding against his chest again. “Really. Promise.”

He hums, the sound edged with skepticism, but he lets it pass.

You take another five minutes to build your courage up, consciously matching your breath to his.

“I love you,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it in your own skull.

After the briefest pause, Jongho chuckles once, arms sliding to hold you tighter.

“I know.”

You blink, then raise your head to look at him again. There’s a dreamy look on his face.

“You told me in your sleep,” he whispers.

You’re pretty sure your heart stops beating. “I—what? When?”

He tucks you against him again, lifting a hand to sink his fingers into your hair. “Hm. A week ago, I think.”

“A week?”

He nods once, and you feel the warmth of his breath stirring against the top of your head.

“I didn’t know if it was just you dreaming,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Figures you’d blab on yourself when unconscious. “…Oh.”

You both fall into silence again, listening to the faint chirp of birds through the open window. You watch the shadow of the tree branches dance gently on the floor next to Jongho’s book, leaves trembling with the slight breeze.

“Did I upset you?” He whispers.

“No,” you wheeze. You clear your throat and try again. “Uh, no. I’m kinda annoyed at myself, but it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t be annoyed,” he murmurs, and you feel his lips curve into a smile in your hair. His fingertips massage gingerly at your scalp. “I was glad you were asleep. I cried a little.”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

The tips of his ears tinge scarlet. “It was stupid. I was just…happy.”

You watch him worry his lower lip between his teeth.

“You’re not upset?”

He frowns slightly. “Why would I be upset?”

“I mean, it’s…” You frown, too. “I don’t want you to feel, like…burdened.”

His frown clears immediately, followed by a fond exasperation.

“Jagi,” he murmurs, studying your face with a little smile. “It’s not a burden to be loved back.”

You stop breathing for a second.

He laughs quietly, guides your head up just enough for him to kiss the tip of your nose. “Don’t tell me I wasn’t obvious.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” you insist, your heartbeat racing again for this entirely different reason.

“You’re allowed to assume,” he says, tucking you against him again. “You’re allowed to do anything. You hung every star in the sky.”

“God,” you rasp, and he laughs again when you bury your face against his neck and pepper it with kisses.

“I love you.”

He says it so simply, like the sky is blue and water is wet and nothing else matters in the world. You breathe deeply in and out, hooking your hand underneath his arm and resting it against his shoulder.

“I love you, too.”

Soobin swore he never saw a meal more enticing than you peacefully sleeping in his bed. Your face was serene, quite the opposite of his thoughts. 

You’d given him permission. You’d even told him you wanted this. He knew that. He trusted you to know what you wanted. But, what if you hated it? What if you decided you never wanted to do it again? 

Because Soobin was pretty sure he’s about to have a new addiction. 

His hand traced your form, feather-light. You let out a soft breath, the quietest of hums, just as his hand traced over your hip. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, the uncertainty fading away. He pushed the bedsheets down, revealing the rest of your sleeping body. Your thin nightgown clung to you, and Soobin could hardly believe you were real. It was a thought he had at least twice a week. 

But right now he had a problem. You were curled up on your side, and while cute, it prevented him access to what he wanted. He huffed a breath of air that made his bangs flip up briefly. This simply wouldn’t do.

Carefully, he pushed against your hip, giving you enough pressure to adjust your body onto your back without waking you up. He held his breath the entire time, freezing only once when you mumbled something in your sleep. But your eyes remained closed, your breathing even. 

Finally getting you into a better position, he placed a soft kiss on your cheek. Then another on your jaw. And still another on your shoulder blade where your nightgown had slipped down a little. 

He could feel himself growing hard, fighting his hands to remain gentle. He pushed your nightgown up, up your legs. His mouth went dry. You weren’t wearing underwear. You truly wanted this as much as he did. 

With this last confirmation, Soobin finally let go. He laid down on his stomach, not even bothering to remove his own pajamas. No, he had more important things to do. 

He slipped his hands under your thighs, squeezing the flesh ever-so-slightly out of habit. He pressed kisses up your inner thigh until he reached his prize. 

At the first taste of you, Soobin felt his mind go blank. He licked and sucked like a man possessed, determined now to get you close before you could even wake up and realize what was happening. 

A groan above him alerted him to your waking, so he doubled down on his efforts, slipping a finger inside of you as well. Soobin couldn’t help the grin when you gasped lightly. 

“Oh fuck…” you whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. Your hips bucked when Soobin added a second finger, curling them both inside of you. He never let up on your clit, loving the whimpers and gasps falling from your lips. 

“Soobin, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna…” you gasped, legs shaking in his arms. 

Soobin added a third finger, fucking into you with renewed vigor, mouth never once leaving you. You came with a cry, gushing onto his mouth. He eagerly lapped you up until you were shaking harder with overstimulation. 

He was tempted to keep going, but you had just woken up. He didn’t want to overwhelm you too soon. So he pushed back, crawling up over you to kiss you deeply. You grabbed onto his arms as you leaned into the kiss. 

When you broke apart, Soobin was sure his smile was nearly feral. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes hazy. “G’morning, little flower,” he said. 

“No kidding,” you murmured. “That was… Wow.” 

Soobin’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.” 

He watches you in the reflection of the hotel elevator, mesmerized. The shirt is a button-down, oversized even on Soobin. He’d helped you roll up each sleeve four times just to give your wrists some breathing room, and from how it fits on you, it gives the appearance that it’s the only thing you’re wearing at all. He’s trying very hard not to stare at your bare legs, focusing in on your little painted toenails to try and stay respectful. He’s not sure if it’s working. Nothing feels respectful about the way he looks at you these days.

The two of you are on a weekend trip to the city together, seizing the opportunity for quality time alone during a rare time when neither of you have anything in your schedules. You’d suggested pretending it was a fancy weekend, and Soobin had taken you at your word and sprung for a nicer hotel than usual, particularly because of how your face had lit up at the idea of a rooftop pool.

The two of you are on the way to this pool now, and instead of wearing normal clothes over your swimsuit, you’d insisted on borrowing one of his shirts. He’d agreed without really thinking about it, and once the sleeves were rolled up you’d declared it was perfect.

Soobin can’t disagree, either, because he can’t stop looking at you in it. Something about it being your idea makes it even better. He likes the way you look in it, but in a way he didn’t expect. Some sort of base instinct in his gut is glowing, seeing you in something of his.

Then again, you’ve always fascinated him, even before the two of you began seeing each other. You’ve always lit up every room he sees you in, something about how you carry yourself drawing the klutzy moth of him to you like flame. He’s never wanted to know so much about another person before. He loves learning every little thing that makes you laugh, that makes you chatty, that incites reactions in you.

He can’t believe he convinced you to say yes when he asked you out, amazed you allowed him to keep coming back for more. He feels like a naturalist who got outrageously lucky enough to get close to their favorite beloved wildlife, like he has to drink in and take note of everything he can get of you in case you spook and flee. Like he can puzzle out the mystery of you if he studies you closely enough.

You catch him staring in the reflection and make a silly face. He grins and makes one back, shifting closer to you and watching his reflection drape an arm over your shoulders. He’s realizing recently how often you draw him in, how he’s always looking for reasons to be as close to you as he can. If he really was a moth, he’d be scorched to a crisp by now.

He can feel you practically vibrating with excitement as the two of you step out onto the roof. There’s a huge grin on your face as you gaze around with eyes so big that Soobin knows you wish you had more of them to take it all in.

“Not too shabby, then?” He asks, charmed at the way you flit from place to place, exploring.

“What do you mean, not too shabby? It’s perfect,” you gush, gesturing from thing to thing and bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Look at the view, ugh, it’s so—and the pool? It’s perfect, the water is so pretty, it’s all so pretty here at night, look at all the other buildings lit up, I’m just—!”

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, face still aglow. “Okay. Calming down.”

He grins, making his way to a chaise lounge near the pool and sitting. “That’s the spirit.”

“Why is it so empty up here on a night like this?” You wonder, staring up and around at the nearby buildings and night sky.

A private smile twitches at the corner of Soobin’s mouth. “Yeah, seems way too nice out not to be up here.”

“Definitely nice enough to swim,” you muse, turning to him and batting your eyes once. “You’ll swim with me, right?”

It was never a question that he would, but Soobin feigns uncertainty. “Hmm...”

“Just for a little bit,” you insist, shoulders slumping, and he can’t help laughing.

“’Course, that’s why we came up here.”

You pout at him, making your way over to his chair. “Rude.”

He watches you approach, endeared at the little frown line between your brows when you pout, how it makes your lips even more distracting. “You’re just easy to bother.”

You make a face at him. “Just for that, you can have your shirt back.”

His mouth goes a little dry when your hands go to the top button, fiddling.

“Oh no, please, anything but that,” he tries to deadpan, but his voice rasps.

You roll your eyes, amused, as you pop the first button. “Perv.”

He can’t even refute you. It’s like erotic torture, watching you unbutton the shirt—his shirt; god, that really is doing things to him. The buttons are on the opposite placket than you’re used to, which means you move slower, and Soobin watches in an agony of lust as inch after inch of your skin is revealed.

You shrug the shirt off when it’s finally unbuttoned, tossing it into his lap and wandering to the edge of the pool. He tries to get himself back under control, but your swimsuit leaves so much less to the imagination than anything else he usually sees you wear that it’s impossible.

You look back over your shoulder at him, pausing on the steps descending into the water. “You coming?”

He nods, dazed.

You raise an eyebrow, smirk teasing the corners of your mouth. “You good?”

That depends heavily on what “good” means. He considers saying this, knows you’ll enjoy the philosophical banter, but when he opens his mouth his throat is too dry to speak. He shuts his mouth and clears his throat, giving up. “I...yeah. Great.”

His face feels hot when you wink at him, tip of your tongue between your teeth. Jesus.

He watches you wade down into the pool and tries to think of boring things, like taxes and bylaws and coding instructions, anything but how breathtaking every inch of you is. It doesn’t work, especially when you dip beneath the surface briefly, then come back up, swiping your hair back from your face more flawlessly than any model.

“Water’s fine,” you murmur, and something in your expression makes him think you’re fully aware that he’s wrapped around your little finger.

Maybe the water will clear his head. He grabs the scruff of his shirt and yanks it over his head. “Coming.”

He doesn’t bother with the steps, heads straight for the deep end and hops in. The cool water is a welcome shock to his system, as well as the muted quiet of underwater. He lingers near the bottom, waiting until his lungs ache for air to push back towards the shallow end.

When he resurfaces, you’re floating on your back, gazing up at the night sky. He swipes his hair out of his face and rises to his full height, angling to see you better. You have your mouth pursed in a specific way to keep from inhaling water, and your hair splays out around your head in the water in gentle, undulating waves, Medusa-style. There are little twinkling reflections in your eyes of the world you’re drinking in above you. Bliss in your face.

Oh no, a voice in the back of Soobin’s mind says, and looking at you feels like he’s made of glass and is being shoved off a high ledge. But Soobin can’t bring himself to be frightened, can only concentrate on the pleasant swoop in his stomach as he plummets. He thinks he might enjoy being shattered by you.

You jerk in surprise when you catch him watching you, a thrash of water. “Jesus.”

He feels a grin tugging at his lips. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all.

“Why are you just standing there staring, you weirdo?” You move upright again, and your mad scientist hair flattens into a streaming curtain down your back. Pale blue pool light reflects in little waves over your skin, and Soobin would believe someone in this moment if they told him you were a water goddess.

He can’t tear his gaze away from you, still grinning like a fool. “You’re interesting.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing smile back on your face.

“Interesting, huh.”

“Mhm.” He starts wading your way at that dreamlike pace water always demands. Moth, meet flame.

“Me, or my tits?”

“I—that wasn’t what—” Soobin stammers. “What—I hadn’t even looked at—”

And he hadn’t, truly. Except of course they’re now at the forefront of his mind, now that you’ve mentioned them, and invisible magnetism keeps tempting his gaze down, a losing fight with the thought of them right at the top of his brain, and now he’s noticing your chest, half-submerged, the gleam of soaked skin and droplets in tantalizing places, noticing the wet cling of swimsuit fabric to curving soft skin. He wonders how it might feel to glide his hands over and under and around, whether you would feel cool or warm under his mouth, and his mind hadn’t been on this track two seconds ago, it really hadn’t...

He hears you snort, tears his gaze back to your face, schoolboy guilt bunched in his stomach.

“Mmhmm,” you say, unbelieving. Your pleased little grin eases the shame, a balm on his heart.

“Yah, I really wasn’t,” he protests. “...but now that you mention it...”

Your snicker is cute, everything about you is so cute, and when did this happen, how did this happen, how did you become the most irresistible thing in Soobin’s world without him catching whiff of it before?

You surprise him when you lunge for him when he’s close enough, your arms flinging around his neck, soft mouth covering his. Like kissing him is a relief, like to you he’s something special, something to look forward to. He’s not going to question why, even if his own appeal to you puzzles him, just pulls you closer with his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

You pull back far too quickly, and he frowns, missing you already. He’s immediately distracted, though, at the delicate feeling of your fingertips ruffling in the soggy strands of his hair.

“Thanks for springing for this place,” you murmur, grateful little smile on your face. “I love it.”

“’Course, baby,” he hums, trying not to feel too smug for nailing it. All of it was worth it just for this.

Your gaze follows a droplet of water traveling down his neck and over his chest. One of your hands leaves his hair, tracing the wing of his collarbone gently.

“You’re really hot when you’re all wet,” you admit, floating off your feet and hooking your legs around his waist.

Your positioning immediately stokes his carnal interest. He blinks, dazed grin spreading slowly over his face.

“Only when I’m all wet?” He teases, hands on a slow glide from your hips to cup beneath your thighs, holding you in place.

You tsk at him, fingers still playing in slow, hypnotic patterns through his hair and over his chest. “Fishing for compliments? Don’t tell me you don’t hear them all the time. We know what you look like.”

He loves watching your mouth when you talk. The shape of your lips is something he’s constantly cataloguing for long-term memory, both from looking at and feeling them with his own.

“I only ever want your compliments,” he says absently, thumbs drawing little circles on your thighs, completely mesmerized. “They’re the only ones that count.”

He can see the reflection of the flickering surface of the pool in your eyes. Something thrills in his chest when the edges of your smile turn a little shy.

“Flirt,” you murmur, leaning in closer.

He blinks, drawing the tip of his nose along yours slowly. He can’t remember what he said. He should try to remember, should take it down to use later, but you’re quite literally hanging all over him and you’re all wet in a swimsuit and your mouth is only inches away and he is not God’s strongest soldier, after all.

He leans down and fastens his mouth over yours, kissing you like he has all the time in the world. It’s quickly becoming one of his favorite things to do, finding all the ways your mouths can fit together. He teases the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, heart racing when you sigh into his mouth and open for him. God. The taste of you, mingled with pool water and the lip balm you’d borrowed from him earlier, is enough to turn off all the thoughts in his brain.

Mouth still playing over yours, he wades slowly backward, inching towards the pool steps, crouching as the water gets shallow to keep you both weightless in the water. His heel knocks against the bottom step and he stumbles back, kiss breaking as he sits down hard.

Your little giggle goes straight to his crotch for reasons he can’t decipher. He grins, sheepish, lifts himself up to sit on the next-highest step, reaching for your hips and reeling you back in. You straddle his lap without him even having to ask, more proof to his mind that you’re perfect, and when he tilts his chin up you meet him halfway.

Everything about you in his arms feels right, and Soobin feels something unidentifiable deep within him settling into place. All his senses are honed in on you, on your mouth moving with his, on the gentle chaos of your breath, on the soft suppleness of you relaxing into him as he kisses you with slow, consuming ardor. His hands slide in restless patterns over you, and eventually his mouth parts from yours and drags along the line of your jaw.

“For the record,” he murmurs, pausing to nip softly at your earlobe, “you’re really hot when you’re all wet, too.”

Your laugh is breathless, a bolt of heat to his gut. “Only when I’m all wet?”

“Especially when you’re all wet,” he whispers, nuzzling against the hollow beneath your ear, savoring how you shiver.

Your skin is cool beneath his mouth, and he makes it a personal mission to warm it again, openmouthed kisses gliding smooth and wet and hot along the expanse of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the wing of your collarbone. He feels you hum and relax further into his lap, tension in your muscles melting you closer against him, candle wax near open flame. He marvels innocently at how incredibly silky you are, even over firmer places, how there’s a hint of you behind the chlorine on your skin, and he needs more of it, feels an itch in his brain for more you in his senses.

“Hey,” you protest halfheartedly as he fumbles with the ties of your swimsuit top. “This is a public pool, someone could come up.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, hearing the words purely at a sound level, feeling the ties come loose in his hands with a slithery tickle. He nuzzles into the inside curve of your breast, nudging fabric away from wet skin, mouth slipping along the plush undercurve. Pure fascination wins out as he opens his mouth wider, bites, sucks.

He feels you twitch in surprise at the feeling, soothes his hands along your back in half-apology, laser-focused on the feel, the taste of you in his mouth. You’re sensitive here, not as excruciatingly sensitive as your nipples, but that just means he doesn’t have to be as careful, can let his curiosity at the feeling of you win unrestricted.

He continues nibbling and sucking in that spot, slides a hand around to your front and tugs the now-loose top away, tossing it behind him blindly. He feels your hands tighten on his shoulders when he settles his hand back on you, cupping your other breast. He eases the pad of his thumb in gentle circles over your areola, mesmerized at the way the skin puckers and tightens to a point under the lazy caress. He hears you swallow back a moan, feels one of your hands slide up and weave fingers through his hair, and that base instinct deep in his gut puffs its chest knowing that he affects you like this.

He lifts his mouth from your skin with a crude pop, other hand sliding from your back to brush a thumb over the hickey. He knows you love when he leaves them on your neck, but it still makes him shy to know other people will see them and make assumptions about what your love lives are like. This one, however, on this pillowy curve of skin that only the two of you get to see, is right up his alley. Satisfied with how dark it is already, he nuzzles your breast and settles his mouth over your nipple.

The little noise you make is adorable, and Soobin finds himself smiling against your skin. He traces his tongue over the budding peak, unhurried, takes your other nipple between his fingers and pinches until you gasp. He can’t resist rolling it slowly between his fingers, twisting one way and then the other as he circles the other in lazy circles with his tongue.

He hears a frayed whimper in your throat, the helpless wriggle of your hips against his inflaming him further. He’s never been addicted to a person before, but he’s hooked on you for sure, wants to take inventory of every inch of you, every reaction he can incite, every texture and scent and movement. He drags his mouth to your other breast and kisses your poor abused nipple gently, massages it better with his tongue as his hand takes over the one he left behind.

All of you drowns his senses—the cool slipperiness of your skin, the little whines you sigh out, the way you keep cinching yourself closer to him, burying your face against his hair, agonizing friction in your laps. He can’t stop himself from groping your ass and tucking your hips in tighter against his, fascinated by the feeling of your muscles twitching and contracting with desire.

He makes a noise of surprise when your hand in his hair tightens and yanks, angling his face up to yours. You crush your mouth over his, and his hands are immediately all over you, roaming restless paths over every inch of you he can reach, urging you closer. He wants to drown in you, be consumed by you, devour you with all five senses at once and then more.

It’s not enough. He wrenches his mouth from yours, panting, tapping your hip.

“Up,” he pants.

You hesitate only a second before moving off of his lap. He stands quickly and takes your hand, sloshing his way up the remaining steps and out of the pool with you in tow.

You seem to be on the same wavelength, to an extent, matching his pace as he makes his way over to the chairs with your things on them. He guides you in front of him, a twinge of fondness in his chest at the sight of your arm attempting to cover your chest, as if that doesn’t just make them look especially sumptuous, and he wants his hands back on you, wants to test how squishable—

“Down,” he pants, hand nudging your shoulder until you sit on the chaise, then nudging again until you lie back. His other hand is already untying your swim bottoms, one side and then the other, gaze laser-focused as he leans in and presses a kiss low on your abdomen, parting your legs.

“I—wait, ‘Binnie,” you protest, hand coming to his head. “Stop—we are outside, someone could look out a window and see—”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against your skin, mouth already gliding along the inside of your thigh. The looming buildings nearby, the vague hum of city life stories below, the night sky, the pool, everything is in a foggy haze in Soobin’s mind. His only focus is you, on how downy soft you are, how you shiver as his tongue darts out to catch at water droplets on your skin.

“Easy for you to say, you’re still wearing someth—ah,” you squeak as Soobin yanks your now-completely untied bottoms away, balling them up absently in one hand and hurling them to oblivion. “Wait, I’m serious, Soobinnnnnnngh.”

He groans into the apex of your thighs, mouth open wide and tongue flattened along as much of you as possible. God, yes, this is exactly what he’s after, concentration and essence of you overwhelming his senses. Slowly, he curls the tip of his tongue, dragging his mouth up, the motion gently parting wet layers of inner softness. You slap a hand over your mouth, moaning as the tip of his tongue laves over the sensitive crest at the very peak, and he lingers there for a moment, leaving an openmouthed kiss.

Blindly, he fumbles above him, finding your arm and pulling your hand away from your mouth, anchoring your wrist to the chaise. He feels your other hand tighten hard in his hair as he continues leaving wet, sucking kisses all over the sensitive tucks and pleats of flesh, working you up with ruthless patience.

He daydreams about this more often than he cares to admit, even more so when the two of you are apart, and he’s determined to learn and implement the way you like it best, the way that makes you lose all sense of shame. Admittedly, he gets a little carried away in part because you’ve told him your former partners were merely passable at eating you out. His competitive streak, combined with this growing obsession with you, make him determined to be extra attentive whenever you grant him this opportunity.

It’s difficult to stay focused, though, the hot and wet feel of you on his mouth, the taste of you on his tongue, enough to make him delirious. He easily gets lost in the savoring, mapping every inch of you under his tongue, lingering in places just because it makes you tremble and whine like you’re desperate for him, and he wants you just as desperate for him as he feels about you.

He hums into you, delighted, when your legs close in around his head as he closes his mouth over your clit and sucks. Everything goes muffled, even the little moans of his name you’re trying to bite back, but it hardly matters when he can feel your limbs shaking, feel you hot and throbbing against his mouth. You start trying to buck your hips into his face, and he slides his free arm over your abdomen and pins you down, steadying you both. He tongues over you in wet, languid strokes, feels the clenching flutter of the entrance into your body. Pure fascination drives him again, and he strokes you there again, stiffening his tongue and driving it into you.

Oh, god. The tight, blistering heat of you, the taste, nearly unmans him. He moans into you, guttural, and nearly loses his mind at the way he can feel your inner muscles fluttering and clenching rhythmically on his tongue like a heartbeat.

The overwhelming need to make you come slams into him like a tidal wave. He’s determined now, anchoring you in place and delving his tongue into you in delicately aggressive thrusts, nuzzling into you deeper and deeper. He can hear you whining even with your thighs muffling his ears, the sound increasingly desperate, and he wants to give you anything in the whole world that you want, would roll over and bark if you asked, so he doubles his efforts and slides his mouth back up to suck and tongue at that most sensitive bud, wringing sensation like raw honey from the comb.

He wonders for a brief moment if he could come just like this, completely untouched with his face buried between your legs, moaning into you like your pleasure is his own, and if that makes him a munch then so be it. And then you tense and tighten against him for a full moment and the pleasure uncoils, your whole body arching and shuddering in euphoria. He shoves his tongue back into you and moans, lightheaded at each of the siphoning ripples of fulfillment pulling him in deeper, drunk on the little sobs of pleasure you make.

God. He’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to be wrapped up in you right the fuck now. He eases you through the quaking pulses of ecstasy and starts fumbling with the drawstring of his swimsuit, taking care not to touch himself for fear of blowing his load in his pants like a teenager. Raw need claws at his insides like a rabid animal, desire to make sure everything is perfect for you warring against his impatience, his craving to skip over things like a condom and gentleness and—

Condom. Oh. He remembers reminding himself to grab one, remembers seeing the box of them tucked into his bag and knowing one would be needed, and yet here he is, empty-handed. Fuck.

“We have to go back to the room,” he groans, leaning back and mopping his chin with the back of his hand. “Now. I need to be in you more than I need to live another day.”

Through your pleasured exhaustion, a lazy smile forms on your lips. You shake your head, glancing over and gesturing at his dress shirt you’d borrowed.

“Don’t need to go back downstairs,” you breathe, and fuck, your post-orgasm voice is devastatingly sexy. “Get the shirt, I brought a condom.”

He blinks at you, once, twice, not comprehending. “You...”

Color flushes over your skin prettily. “I...I thought it never hurts to be prepared. For anything.”

Soobin is trying to process that you’ve had a plan for being up here that involves a condom. Dazed, he glances over at the neighboring chaise, reaches for the shirt.

“Is there a condom...in the shirt...?”

Your breathless giggle ties his insides into little knots.

“You didn’t notice the weird shape in the breast pocket earlier?” You ask, eyes crinkled in mirth.

Through the haze of oh my god she wants us to fuck, Soobin finds it in him to be indignant again. “I wasn’t looking at—I was trying not to look, you know, at...”

He huffs a sigh as he extracts the condom from the shirt pocket, unable to stay annoyed even as you keep giggling at him.

“Here I was trying to be respectful,” he tsks, smiling even as his ears grow hot.

You snort. “Ah yes, the respectful boyfriend that strips his girlfriend at a public pool and commits sex acts on her where anyone could stumble in on them.”

“No one’s going to stumble in,” Soobin breathes, trying to make his hands dry enough to tear the condom packet open.

“What do you mean?”

“Pool’s closed,” he says, giving up and tearing at the packet with his teeth.

“The pool is closed? Are we going to get in trouble for—”

“It’s not really closed,” he says. “I just paid the front desk to tell the rest of the hotel guests that it’s closed.”

You stare at him for so long in stunned silence that he starts feeling a little antsy. “You bribed the hotel...so you could have sex with me?”

“I would bribe anyone with anything to spend even five platonic minutes alone with you,” he protests, fumbling the condom out of the wrapper.

He stills when you grab his wrist, arresting him with your stare. There’s something at work behind your eyes, something he doesn’t know the name for.

“What?” He whispers.

After a long moment, you swallow. “Nothing. I just...no, nothing. Here, let me.”

You keep eye contact as you slip the condom out of his hand, and he shivers when your other hand brushes down his abdomen. His breath stutters when you take hold of him, and he feels himself twitch in your hand after going so long neglecting himself.

If he doesn’t redirect his attention he may still finish before he can even get inside you. “People might—might still be able to see from windows,” he stammers as you roll the condom on, spreading your legs.

You shrug a shoulder, abashed smile still on your face. “If they see, they see,” you breathe.

Sometimes you make him breathless.

“Remind me not to believe you,” he murmurs, settling himself between your legs, “when you say you’re too shy to do this out in the open.”

You laugh as he drags his tip over you, catching on your entrance. “Don’t push it, this is a special ca—ohh.”

Ohh, indeed. Soobin moans and drops his forehead against your temple, feeling what little remains of his sanity obliterating the further inside he eases into you. You’ve been intimate like this before, but no matter how prepared Soobin thinks he is, every time feels like the first time all over again. Nothing ever truly prepares him for the scalding hot, wet glide into unimaginable tightness, for how even when you’re relaxed, he has to bully himself into you inch by inch. He’s shaking with the effort to be gentle, nudges his hips slowly until bit by bit, all of him is enveloped snugly inside.

“How can you feel this perfect,” he groans, most of the willpower left at his disposal exerted on lasting, good god he needs to last even just to feel you around him like this for longer—

You laugh again, breathless, and the way that feels when you’re connected like this is sinfully good. “I try.”

“No you don’t,” he gasps, rocking his hips gingerly into yours. “You just are.”

You whimper as the angle of his hips drives him into a sensitive place inside of you. He grinds into the spot again, careful, his restraint threadbare but hanging on.

“Please,” you pant, hitching your knees further up, and the adjustment of angle forcing him even deeper.

Soobin nearly chokes on his own tongue. Fuck. He thrusts like he’s afraid of himself, mantra of don’t come don’t come don’t come flooding the forefront of his mind, sheer force of will.

“I won’t break,” you plead, voice so breathy and fucked-out it belongs in high-end porn. Sweet merciful god, he can’t do this.

He feels your mouth drag along his shoulder, and then a flash of sharpness. His body reacts to the bite before his mind can catch up, hips surging hard against yours, strangled noise punching out of his throat. Your legs tighten around him, intimate muscles clenching in that way that means hell yes, and the groan from deep in his chest is inevitable as he snaps his hips again. Fuck.

Yeah, okay, he can do this for you. That base instinct in his gut purrs like a feral dragon at the way you can no longer hide your moans, being fucked like this. His new goal now is to build stamina, he’s determined, needs to be able to do you exactly how you want it for hours without stopping. He thinks he might be moaning too but he can’t hear, so preoccupied with drinking in every clench of your muscles around him, every little pleasured expression on your face, addiction to every part of you wrapped around him like this so intense he feels lightheaded.

He can’t tell if you’re shaking or he is, only knows you’re pulling him in like you aren’t already as close as it is humanly possible to be, like that somehow isn’t enough, like you can meld yourselves into a singular being if you try hard enough. Your fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, your breath stuttering in that way that tells him just what’s coming next, and then you shatter around him.

You become impossibly tighter around him, bearing down with rhythmic spasms luring him deeper inside, as if that’s even possible, like he hasn’t been working himself as deep into you as he can go, purely for selfish reasons. He never wants to leave, would live inside you if he could, and he loves that you get like this with him, loves the way you go soft and pliant when the release begins ebbing, god, he loves—

His release hits him with no warning, no buildup, hard as a bullet train. Fuck. It feels like nothing that’s ever happened to him before, and a stab of panic electrocutes him through the feeling. His ears are ringing, alarm bells tolling danger in his bones, and he feels out of control, completely gone, glass making impact at last and shattering into far-flung pieces, impossible to gather again. It’s all he can do to gasp for breath, clutching at you like handfuls of sand that keep slipping away, hips rocking into you, slow, rhythmic, with a mind of their own.

Your arms slide around his back, warm pressure like an anchor point, and just with that, with your tight embrace and each deep breath you take, you’ve found each piece of him, binding him back together. Only now the essence of you fills in the cracks, the healing balm, each sinew of him now limned with your glow. A moth made of flame.

Soobin tries to take as even breaths as possible, tries to sound calm, rests his face against the chaise next to your face and feels a hot stinging drip from his eyelashes.

He knows what that look in your eyes was earlier, he realizes. The unidentifiable emotion. He knows because it’s clicking for him right now, the knowledge that he feels that way, too.

He sent you a link this afternoon to a restaurant for a type of food you’d never tried before, stating a time later that night and “be there”. You responded with the middle finger emoji for the bossiness, to which he replied “they’ve got your favorite whiskey and I just got paid, so it’s on me”. You immediately replied with the halo emoji, then “yes sir” and a wink. He said “thought so, little brat” and indulged your ensuing indignance.

Ghanaian food, it turns out, is absolutely delicious. You’re not sure why they have your whiskey there, since it isn’t Ghanaian, but maybe it’s just that the restaurant is local. One of the guys from Seungwoo’s pickup footie team comes out from the kitchen to say hey and offers you both another round on him, so you’re pleasantly buzzed by the time the two of you exit into the warm evening.

You love the way urban places are at night, and you think Seungwoo must know it. You love the way the temperature mellows, the way all the street lamps and storefront signs create a comforting glow in the dark. People are still out, but with less of a hurry or end goal, enjoying the same thing you are.

Seungwoo ends up guiding you both to the waterfront to meander along the boardwalk. Things are alive out here, hopping with snack vendors and entertainers and game booths. Seungwoo offers to try and win you a prize at a game, something he knows you’ll roll your eyes at him for (when has he ever been known for gentlemanly chivalry?) and he laughs when you do just that.

You do indulge in a fortune teller together, just for kicks and giggles, and the woman reads your palms. You’re pretty sure she’s besotted with Seungwoo, because she says something generic about you and then says, “careful with this one. He’s trouble. The good kind” about Seungwoo, with a wink.

You cross your eyes at him when he waggles his eyebrows at you.

He catches you staring out at the water a few times before taking your hand and suggesting you both go down to the shoreline. You both step over a low-hanging chain holding a “Closed: No Visitors Allowed” sign on it and ditch your socks and shoes nearby, wandering barefoot in the sand.

Your whiskey buzz from before has worn off, but the warmth of it has lingered in your blood, kept everything around you lovely. Even Seungwoo. You find yourself staring at him as he scours the shoreline for skipping rocks. The reflection of the moon on the water lighting his face, the breeze off the water ruffling his hair, gives him an unfairly ethereal aura. Unfair because his demeanor is never, ever ethereal; why should he get to look the part?

He tries to teach you how to skip rocks, finding more underneath a large, empty fishing pier farther down the shoreline. You learn to copy his stance and the flick of his wrist perfectly, but nothing ever skips. You don’t like him besting you in things, so to distract him you grab the hem of your shirt and peel it up and over your head.

Seungwoo’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“Is it my birthday?” He teases, gaze trailing over your newly exposed skin.

You roll your eyes and try to ignore the way his gaze makes your skin feel hot. You feign nonchalance as you half-fold your shirt and set it aside to reach behind you and unclasp your bra. “I want to go skinny-dipping.”

“What, here? Now?” He glances up and down the shoreline, then above your heads at the silent fishing pier above you.

You smile and turn your back to him teasingly, nudging your bra straps off your shoulders and removing it. “Why not? Too scared to join me?”

“Could get caught.”

You grin at him over your shoulder. “Isn’t that part of the fun?”

“Your definition of fun is interesting,” he says, but he’s grinning, too.

You turn back to your task and laugh when you hear the rustle of his own clothing.

He’s done faster than you, not bothering to be neat and leaving his clothes haphazard on the sand. You turn and watch him wade into the water as you finish folding your jeans, silently admiring his back muscles and what little ass he has to speak of while he can’t see you doing it.

He turns back in waist-deep water when you start wading in after him. He watches you with lazy heat, gaze trickling down your body from head to toe with unashamed lust.

You keep wading and fold your arms across your chest, fully aware it makes your tits look good and pretending you have no idea. “Staring is rude.”

“Uh huh,” he says absently, staring anyway. You can feel his gaze like a hand on your skin, especially when he lingers below your navel.

You kick at the water and splash him. He coughs in surprise, hands lifting and wiping the water from his face up into his hair.

“Perv,” you say lightly, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

His grin is wolfish when you come to a stop in front of him.

“It was your idea to swim naked in public and I’m the perv?”

He makes a compelling argument, but you’ll never admit it, so you splash him again.

He laughs and reaches out lightning-fast to catch your wrist before you can splash him a third time, grinning when your attempts to pull it free go in vain.

“Easy, little firecracker,” he murmurs, wading backwards into deeper water, pulling you with him.

You splash him with your free hand, and he grins and ducks fully underwater, letting go of you entirely. A moment later, you shriek as a hand on your ankle yanks you under, too.

You emerge, spluttering, a few seconds later to a grinning Seungwoo, rivulets of water flowing from his hair.

“Not fair,” you protest.

“Cry about it,” he suggests, biting his lip and splashing you full in the face before diving away.

You give chase, the two of you splashing and giggling and swimming farther out underneath the pier. You end up piggybacking him when the water becomes too deep for you to stand upright, and his hands settle under your knees, thumbs rubbing little circles into your skin.

You hook your ankles together around his front, and they brush faintly against a little thatch of hair low on his belly, and a smooth hardness.

You grin and hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Isn’t the fear of getting caught being publicly indecent supposed to kill libido?”

He sighs as you begin sucking a mark into his skin.

“Tell that to the body part of yours radiating a thousand degrees against my tailbone right now,” he says.

He makes another compelling argument, but you once again don’t want to admit it, so you suck a little harder at the spot on his neck.

He manhandles you around before you can protest until you’re piggybacking him from the front. Even in the dark beneath the pier, you can make out the smile on his face, one that feels especially fond. You love it, and it also makes some feeling in your chest squirm a little, so you lean in and kiss him before you have to think much about it, before he can say something dumb and ruin it.

He sighs and runs his hands up your thighs and hips, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you firmly against him. It’s different to kiss him like this, your mouths slick from swimming, naked bodies weightless and brushing into each other with the gentle swell of the water. You could easily get addicted to it. He’s an infuriatingly good kisser, as always, no other way to describe it but as somehow kissing you with his whole body. Every inch of him is into you, invested in the teasing, openmouthed kisses he’s engulfing you in, and maybe you were thinking of getting him to do exactly this, and that’s why you’re hot and bothered.

You get so lost in the building heat of kissing him that you make a noise of surprise when your back bumps up against something. Seungwoo only kisses you harder, one hand leaving your back to brace against whatever you’re leaning against—one of the posts holding up the pier, you realize—and the other guiding you closer to him. He grinds his hips into the scorching warmth of yours, unhurried, the water making the glide smooth. You both groan into one another’s mouths at the feeling. Your fingernails instinctively dig into his shoulders, both for purchase and in appreciation for the slow, hard way he’s grinding just right along your clit.

His mouth leaves yours and begins sucking a path of leisurely, biting kisses along your jawline. One of his hands weaves into your hair, angling your head so he can continue trailing the wet kisses down your neck. You can hear the swell of your racing pulse in your ears, the way each breath you take comes a little quicker, a little shallower. Lust shimmers under your skin, lighting up under his other hand, now coasting stealthily down the front of your body.

You moan and thump your head back against the post when he cups you firmly between your legs. Fuck, you need this. He lifts his head and covers your mouth with his again, kissing the breath out of you until your head is spinning and your body is aching for more of him. His pace is still deliberate and measured, fingertips massaging slowly up and down the swollen, parted opening of your body. You wriggle your hips, working to get him to touch the places that yearn to be petted most.

His hand tightens in your hair, securing you in place. You feel him smile into your mouth before he nips at your lower lip.

“Be good and hold still,” he murmurs, lips trailing along the water-slick curve of your jaw and brushing over your ear, “or I’ll make you wait longer to get what you need.”

Ugh. You huff out an exasperated breath. He always does this, always ruins a perfectly nice thing by challenging you to “be good” in some annoyingly pliant way. Be good, hah. What if he just gave you what you wanted when you wanted it, for a change? Would it injure his ego that much?

You grin and squirm in his hold, trying to snap your legs shut, but he’s right between them and won’t budge. Determined now, you keep fidgeting against him, trying to get away, fighting not to give him the satisfaction of teasing you. He lets go of your hair and grabs at your hip, trying to keep you in place, but the slippery nature of being submerged in water works against him and you slip free. You dive aside with a laugh, Seungwoo hot on your tail.

The two of you wrestle with one another, the water thrashing into choppy, bubbly little waves around you. Your mistake is letting him corral you into deeper water, where you don’t have the leverage of the ground. After another brief struggle, Seungwoo succeeds in pinning your arms immobile behind you, your back to his front. You strain your legs for the ground, pointing your toes and slicing them through the water below for purchase, but you can’t find it. In the end, you have to settle your feet against his shins just to keep your chin above the water.

Seungwoo is panting hard but grinning in triumph against your temple. He tsks at you.

“All that just for wanting to give you a nicer orgasm,” he says. “Amazing we didn’t attract any attention.”

Your body betrays you, thrilling back to life when his hand not securing you in place slides down your front again.

You gasp wildly, nearly choking on the water around you, when his fingers part you with ease and two of them sink inside you all the way to the knuckle.

Seungwoo’s smirk drifts from your temple to the shell of your ear. “Better keep quiet or someone might hear.”

You open your mouth to tell him just what you’d make them hear, just as his fingers crook inside of you roughly, right into a spot so sensitive you can’t think straight. You make a choked, gurgling noise, panting and fighting to keep your wits about you as he keeps massaging his fingertips right into that spot.

He chuckles, sucking a kiss to your earlobe, before snapping his wrist and fucking his fingers into you sharply. You moan out, conflicted between the desire to ruin his plans and the desire for him, for this. You try experimentally to wriggle away from him, failing.

“Mmmm,” he coos, building a steady but harsh pace. “Can’t move. Can’t struggle. So good and obedient for me.”

Horny rage floods your mind at “obedient”. How dare he? You lift a foot away from his leg to kick him, but you only lose your balance and slip sideways. His hand stays exactly where it is, meaning you fall hard into the thrust of his fingers. A desperate moan punches out of your chest against your will.

He makes it worse and grinds his palm hard into your clit, sparks of pleasure threatening to weaken your muscles.

“If you wanted it harder you could’ve asked,” Seungwoo purrs, and you can hear his grin.

“Oh f-fuck you—ah!”

You scramble to re-balance your feet against his shins as he picks up a harder pace. God. Fuck. Every rough thrust of his fingers is delicious, maddening. You can hear yourself laboring for breath over the gentle lap of the water, and then, worse—the distant murmur of voices.

Seungwoo finally releases your arms and covers your mouth, tilting your chin up an inch. You grasp up at his shoulders to keep yourself upright in the water as he takes another step deeper.

He presses your body firmly back against his, mouth at your ear again.

“Keep quiet unless you want them to hear how I make you come.”

And then he starts fingerfucking you harder than before. Your eyes roll back into your head; holy shit, that’s perfect, that’s so infuriatingly perfect. Fuck, it’s not fair. Footsteps continue closer from the shore end of the pier, and you bite down hard on your tongue to stifle all the pitiful noises you want to make. God, you want to be mad at him for this, but the threat of being discovered is only sending a spike of heat down your spine.

Seungwoo, for the brutal pace he’s setting, is keeping surprisingly quiet. Being further submerged in the water has kept any movement of his arm from making splashes. This hardly seems fair. Too easy for him. You let go of one of his shoulders and fumble behind you, down low on his torso, towards the solid protrusion pressed against your back.

You hear Seungwoo’s breath stutter as you wrap your hand around him and pump, attempting to keep pace with how his fingers are drilling into you. He thrusts sharply into that little sensitive patch inside of you in warning. You work desperately to keep pumping even as the pleasure fogs your mind. He startles you and bites down hard on your neck beneath your ear, muffling the quietest of moans into your skin.

The footsteps, as well as muffled voices, linger in place from down the pier. Your mind feels hazy, too many things to focus on at once—keeping yourself above water, keeping yourself quiet, despite your neck slowly bruising under Seungwoo’s mouth, your hand faltering over his cock, your intimate muscles gradually clamping into a vise around his unrelenting fingers. It’s so good, everything feels so good, he’s hitting the perfect spot over and over again just as rough as you like it, and fire is beginning to creep up the backs of your legs and into your stomach, euphoric heat stoking into a full flame, it’s perfect, just like that, right there—

You don’t realize he’s yanked his hand out from between your legs until it’s too late. You gape, entire body wracked with orgasmic shudders as you clamp down and down and down on nothing, nothing at all. Holy shit. Fuck. You gasp as quietly as you can for air, desire aching inside of you in unfulfilled disappointment. As the haze of lust slowly begins to dissipate, a whole different kind of fire begins to burn in your gut. Dipping your face down into the water, you scream in utter rage.

You feel Seungwoo smile against your neck.

The voices and the footsteps have retreated back down the pier and into the night. For a long moment, the two of you float there together, catching your breath.

Seungwoo speaks up first, letting go of you.

“Should’ve listened and let me give you the nice orgasm, huh?”

You turn to him, incredulous, and see the bastard grinning.

“I,” you say, with surprisingly even calmness, “am going to fucking kill you for that.”

The water is throwing little sparkles into his eyes, gleaming in amusement.

“Well…to kill me, you’d have to catch me first.”

And then his hands come down on your shoulders, dunking you beneath the surface.

In the tranquil quiet under the water, you take a moment to plot his demise. When your head breaks the surface again, he’s already swimming for shore. You give chase, and despite your righteous indignation at the ruined orgasm, you feel yourself grin.

As much as you hate to admit it…Han Seungwoo is knocking it out of the park with this date. And you’re going to make him pay for it.

Feeling a little gross suddenly, you picked at a cat hair stuck to your sweatpants. When was the last time you wore something that made you feel pretty? Sure, there was nothing wrong with the hoodie and sweatpants you normally opted for. They kept you warm and cozy as you slaved away to capitalism. 

But every once in a while you missed dressing up. You missed styling your hair, adding little sparkly accessories to it just because. You missed wearing clothes that didn’t make you feel like a lazy slob. 

With a sigh, you glanced back at the computer screen as another email came in. 

“What’s the sigh for, love?” a familiar voice brought a small smile to your face. 

Jihoon stood in the doorway, dressed in a simple pair of sweats and a t-shirt that you knew he chose for the way it hugged his torso, showing off all the hard work he’d put in at the gym lately. 

“Nothing really,” you sighed, not wanting to bother him. He’d been holed up in his studio a lot lately, working tirelessly on Seventeen’s next album. To see him home so early was a rare treat, you didn’t want to ruin it.

Jihoon raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unconvinced. He began walking across the room towards you, and suddenly you became hyper-aware of your appearance once again. Anxiously, you began picking more cat hair off your sweatpants, refusing to look Jihoon in the eye. How could you when he looked like a god and you felt like a pig who’d just rolled in mud? 

Jihoon hummed thoughtfully when he reached you. He put his hand under your chin, lifting your head gently to look him in the eye. Ever-observant, you could tell he knew what was wrong. Shame washed over you, but Jihoon just smiled gently. “Sign out of work,” he stated. 

“Now? But it’s not my time yet,” you argued, worried that you’d be caught. 

“Don’t care. They can let you go a little early on a Friday. I want you all to myself tonight,” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

You melted into his touch, already nodding and moving to shut down your work computer. They wouldn’t miss you. Probably. 

“Good girl,” Jihoon cooed, still messing with your hair. “Now, I want you to go pamper yourself. Take a long bath, use the nice soap and one of those fancy bath bombs I got you for Christmas. Doll yourself up. I know you’ve been missing it. I want to see my little princess feeling as beautiful as she looks.” 

At the nickname, you felt a rush of heat to your cheeks and your stomach. Blinking nervously, you looked up at him. “But what should I wear?” 

He answered almost instantly. “That red dress I bought you. I’ve been wanting to see you in it for a while now.” 

Your eyes widened. The dress in question was one Jihoon had bought you a few months ago after seeing it at a fashion show he attended. He refused to tell you the price, insisting that no price was too steep for his princess. But still, you were terrified to wear the thing. What if you tripped and the hem tore? What if you spilled something on the front and it stained? No, it was better off safe and sound in the back of your closet. 

“But-” you tried to say. 

Jihoon frowned. “Are you trying to argue with me?” 

You gulped. “No, sir.” 

“Good. Now go. I’ll order our favorite for dinner,” he said, bending down to give your cheek a gentle kiss. 

“We’re not going out?” you asked, bewildered. Why did he want you to wear the dress then? 

Jihoon smiled and shook his head, his long, dark hair flopping almost cutely as he did so. “I told you; I want you to myself tonight.” 

And with that he ushered you into the bathroom, even helping you pick out a bath bomb. Then he shut the door behind him and left you to decide how best to pamper yourself. At first you just stood there, unsure of what to do. How do you even pamper yourself? When was the last time you had a self-care day? 

Slowly, your brain kicked into gear. You turned the faucets on to nice and hot. When the tub was filled, you plopped the bath bomb in and spent a couple minutes watching the colors spread. Jihoon made sure all of the bath bombs he got you were purple - your favorite color. This one was a deep plum and smelled floral. It was lovely. 

You stripped out of your clothes, grabbed your shaving kit, and eased yourself down into the hot water. This time your sigh was one of relief as the heat eased your stiff muscles. You hadn’t realized how tense you were. 

You let yourself soak for a while, just vegetating and allowing yourself to empty your thoughts. You should’ve brought a book and a glass of wine with you. Oh well, next time. And you made the promise to yourself that there will definitely be a next time. 

Eventually, you felt the water begin to grow lukewarm and you decided to shave your legs and bathe. It felt like you were washing away the stress of the week. Every mistake you made and every scolding you got from higher-ups just fading into the background.

After you were clean and your hair was washed, you wrapped yourself in the fluffiest towel you owned and made the (chilly) trek to your bedroom. There you stared, still clad in only towel, at the beautiful red dress you laid out on your bed. It truly was gorgeous. The deep red, Jihoon’s favorite color, was complimented by silver embellishments. The swirly designs graced the flowy skirt, and the sleeves also flowed gracefully. 

Taking a deep breath, you eased yourself carefully into the dress, pleased to find it fit perfectly. Of course Jihoon had it tailored to you. He knew every inch of your body by heart. 

Deciding that if you’re going to wear this dress, you might as well go all out. You pulled out your slightly dusty makeup bag and pulled out your favorite eyeshadow palette along with the rest of your makeup. You took your time dolling your face up, feeling the icky feeling from earlier fading from your mind. 

Finally satisfied with your look, you floofed you hair to give it some volume, allowing the curls to do their thing as they air dried. Lastly you picked out some jewelry, also gifted to you by Jihoon, and slipped on a pair of sparkly silver heels. 

Nervously you peeked out of your bedroom. Then you ambled down the hall to the living room where Jihoon was waiting, the TV playing some variety show quietly in the background as he scrolled on his phone. 

Hearing the click clack of your heels, he looked up and you swear you watched his pupils dilate. 

“Holy shit,” he said, standing up. He’d changed too, now sporting a black button down with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black slacks. “That dress is fucking perfect on you, princess,” he all but growled. He took your hand and gave you a twirl, admiring the way your cheeks flushed with his compliment. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, shy. “It’s really a beautiful dress. I don’t think I could ever make it up to you for giving it to me.” 

“Don’t give me that,” he said, gently flicking your forehead. “It’s more than enough reward to just see you in this, my gorgeous girl.” 

Your brain was swirling with the compliments. Jihoon wasn’t often outspoken about how much he adored you, opting usually for acts of service and gifts and small gestures to make sure you felt loved. But sometimes, when you were feeling down, he allowed his walls to come down and finally tell you what he always felt. 

The two of you ate dinner, just some simple takeout from your favorite Korean restaurant nearby, and chatted. You were very careful not to spill any sauce on your dress. 

After dinner, Jihoon cleaned up the table, refusing to allow you to lift a finger. “Princesses don’t clean,” he chastised. 

You grumbled, “Princes don’t either…” 

Jihoon laughed at your obstinance and couldn’t help planting another kiss on your cheek. “Cute.” 

After he cleaned up, Jihoon began fiddling with his phone and some speakers he’d bought. You watched him in confusion until a waltz came on. Jihoon walked over to you, bowed, and held out his hand.

You shyly took it and allowed him to pull you up, wrapping an arm around your waist. Then, as if he’d practiced the waltz for years, he began to teach you the steps. 

The two of you danced slowly around the living room, careful to not bump into the table. Slowly you grew more confident in your dancing and allowed yourself to relax into the steps. Jihoon smiled at you and pulled you a bit closer. Your chest bumped against his, and you could’ve sworn you heard a sharp intake of breath from him. 

Before you could ask what’s wrong, Jihoon captured your lips in a heated kiss, not once breaking step. When you broke apart, you stared up at him, lips parted in surprise. Jihoon felt a tightening in his pants at the innocent look on your face. “As much as I love seeing you in this dress, I can’t fucking wait to take it off you,” he said. 

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your core. Jihoon pulled you closer, allowing you to feel the growing tent in his pants. But still, the song wasn’t done, so he continued to twirl you around. You were growing impatient and tried nipping at his bottom lip to let him know. 

“Uh uh,” he said, “patience little princess. The song will be over soon. For now, let me get one last look at you in the dress I picked out for you.” 

And with a twirl, Jihoon’s eyes raked up and down your body, taking note of the way the bodice of the dress hugged your breasts. He loved the way the dress poofed out, teasing him by hiding your legs from him. 

When the song ended, it was like something snapped inside him. Jihoon pushed you backwards until you landed with a soft “oof” on the couch. He grabbed your wrists and held them above your head with one hand, the other hand holding the side of your face as he kissed you passionately. His knee found your clothed core, hiking up your skirts that fell around your thighs. 

“So fucking pretty for me,” he whispered in your ear. “Getting all dolled up just for me to ruin you. But you like that, don’t you little girl? You like it when your prince corrupts you.” 

Flushing, you nodded, unable to deny him. You did love dressing up for him. You did love when he absolutely ruined you. You loved every bit about him, the way he kissed you, the way he comforted you when you were upset, the way he quietly but firmly took care of you just as much as you cared for him. 

Jihoon’s hand trailed its way from your face to your neck to your chest. His lips followed suit and you gasped when he bit down on the top of your breast, tongue gently soothing the skin immediately after. 

He dropped your hands to start fumbling with the buttons in the back of your dress, hands slipping a little in his eagerness. He huffed. “This is taking too long.” Then he shocked you by ripping the back of the dress open. You felt several buttons pop off and yelped. 

“Jihoon!” 

“I’ll have it fixed later, now come here,” he responded before latching onto your breast. 

You yelped again, which turned into a breathy moan as he ran his tongue over your nipple. His other hand made its way down to your thigh to squeeze it. 

Jihoon’s focus shifted to your thighs and he knelt down to pepper kisses all up your thigh, leaving a hickey or two as well. You wiggled as his lithe fingers found your clothed core. 

“Mmm, my princess is so wet for me already,” he hummed. He bunched the dress’s skirts up higher, then took his time pulling the matching red panties down. 

Jihoon licked his lips at the sight of your soaking wet core, his dick straining painfully in his pants. You whimpered and reached out for him. Tilting his head, he stood up and leaned in close to you. 

Happily, you pulled him close and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. You felt yourself grow wetter at the feeling of his hard muscles beneath your hands. Jihoon watched your face as you concentrated on not fumbling on the buttons. Your breasts spilled out of the torn dress, and your thighs were practically begging him to come kiss them again. Your hair was already disheveled, and he found you the most beautiful person in the world. 

Finally, his shirt was off and flung to the floor. Greedily, you pulled him in for more kisses, and Jihoon was happy to oblige. While you were distracted, his hand made its way under your skirts. You let out a gasp as he inserted a finger and began pumping, his thumb circling your clit. 

Jihoon swallowed your breathy gasps greedily, hitting your g-spot expertly with every thrust of his finger. You whimpered when he inserted a second finger, and Jihoon groaned at the way your pussy practically swallowed his fingers. 

“You’re so tight, pretty girl,” he groaned, yet despite his words he inserted a third finger, making you cry out. 

His pumping didn’t slow down, even as your gasps grew higher in pitch. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening already, the stress from the week having left you wound up. 

Between Jihoon’s fingers and his thumb circling your clit, it wasn’t long before you were crying out his name in pleasure, your thighs trembling as you rode out your high. 

Jihoon waited until you were back down to earth before removing his fingers and licking your release off them. You watched through heavy-lidded eyes as you tried to catch your breath. 

Jihoon began unbuttoning his pants, pulling them and his boxers down in one go. His dick sprang free, red and dripping with precum. You groaned, mouth watering, but Jihoon pushed you back on the couch. 

“Not tonight, princess. Tonight I spoil you, just as you deserve,” he cooed. 

You blinked up at him, pouting. “But-” 

He put a finger to your lips, shushing you. “Don’t argue, little girl. Don’t worry, I’m being greedy too. I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re screaming my name.” 

At the dirty talk, you closed your mouth, no longer even remotely tempted to argue with him. 

“Good girl,” Jihoon said before entering you with a groan. 

You moaned helplessly at the way he filled you up. He waited a moment before his patience ran out, and he began to move. 

Jihoon fucked you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. Maybe you were in his mind, you could never know. But the way he buried himself in you and the way he moaned your name gave you little doubt of his affection. He knew your body better than you did, hitting that spot that made you see stars every single time. 

“Jihoon- ah! I’m- I’m gonna-” you tried to speak but the pleasure was overtaking you. Your mind just chanted his name over and over, and all you saw was his body over yours, his cock entering you with every thrust. 

“Cum for me, princess. Let me hear your pretty moans,” Jihoon said, increasing his speed as he felt himself racing towards his finish. 

You came hard, throwing your head back in a silent scream as your entire body trembled in Jihoon’s grasp. Feeling your cunt convulse around him, Jihoon’s pace grew erratic until he too came with a loud moan, spilling into you. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as he came down from his own high. 

After a moment of heavy breathing, Jihoon moved off of you, pulling out of you. He watched as his cum leaked out of you. Frowning, he pushed it back into you, making sure not a single drop was wasted. 

You flushed at the feeling, so full and satisfied. You gave Jihoon a dopey smile that he happily returned. “Always so good for me, pretty girl,” he crooned. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He scooped you up, your dress still halfway on your body, and carried you to the bathroom. He took the dress the rest of the way off you and turned on the faucets of the tub again, wetting a washcloth to clean you. 

He startles momentarily when you drape your arms over his shoulders. He relaxes and pulls the headphones down, tapping the spacebar to pause the music.

You kiss the top of his head. “How’s it looking?”

“Better,” Chris hums, lifting his free hand and rubbing your arm. “Fixed that annoying buzzing sound.”

You hum, resting your cheek against his hair, looking at the dual monitors. “Can I hear?”

“’Course,” he says, and you can hear the pleased grin in his voice. That’s his favorite request you can make of him.

He unplugs the headphones and fiddles with the knobs on his volume box, clicks around and then taps the spacebar again.

He’s right; the buzzing noise that had hovered persistently in the corners of the track is gone. He’s nuanced the vocal effects, as well, softened the pitch corrector, and you smile, fond of how sincere his voice sounds.

“’S pretty,” you murmur, humming at a new instrument that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s closer,” he admits, not fully accepting the compliment.

You’re too sleepy to push back, make him accept the praise, so you merely bury your face in his hair.

“You should get some sleep, like I said,” Chris tells you, voice tinged with concern.

He had told you to do that…four hours ago.

You snort. “Love. Check the time.”

“Hm?” You feel his head tilt, watch his mouse slide to the bottom corner of the screen to the clock. “…Oh.”

“Was sleeping,” you say, watching his mouse trail back up over Cubase, deliberating. “’N then I woke up with too much space ‘n not enough warm.”

He hums in acknowledgment, the noise tinged with guilt.

You kiss the top of his head again. “…Please?”

He sighs, leaning his head back against your shoulder.

“You at a good stopping point?” You ask, knowing too well what his next argument will be.

He sighs again quietly, a sound of concession. “I never am…but this will do.”

You grin and give him an encouraging squeeze as he presses save three times on each software.

“Bet you’ll knock it out of the park once your brain is fresh,” you tell him as he shuts the computer down.

“And once the headache passes,” he says, pressing the heel of one hand to his eye and rubbing as he rolls the chair back.

You frown, leaning back to let him stand and stretch. “You’ve been working with a headache?”

“Just hints of one,” he insists, waving it away as he relaxes out of the stretch. “Probably eye strain.”

You give him a look. “You know, that might not happen if you’d just wear your glasses.”

It’s a lost cause and you both know it. He snorts, then gets a better look at you and smiles.

“Your hair’s cute,” he says, lifting a hand to your head and ruffling.

You scrunch your face up in protest. “’S bedhead, Chris.”

“And it’s cute,” he insists, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Bedtime?”

“Past bedtime,” you say, giving him a stern look when he leans back. “Long, long past.”

“Hmm,” he says, studying your face and smiling in that goopy-eyed way that you know means he’s barely listening. You roll your eyes.

He lets you take his hand and guide him back down the hall, lets you procure pajamas for him while he talks through what else he wants to do in the song, lets you help him change as he explains.

“Just want the feeling of the song to be right when you hear it, even without lyrics,” he says as you help pull on the pajama shirt.

“People will know,” you tell him, patting his shoulder and taking his hand again, guiding him to bed. “I can feel it when I hear it.”

“But what if that’s just you?” He frets, lying back and getting comfortable, drawing up the covers. “What if you just know me?”

You burrow under the covers and lay your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around him. “I do know you. But that’s not why I felt it.”

“But how do you know for sure?” He asks, his hand back in your hair, stroking softly.

You prop your chin up on his chest and look at him. “Babe. You’re not capable of making dishonest or disingenuous music. Your heart’s all the way out there in every little detail.”

He looks at you for a long moment, fingers slow and gentle in your hair. Eventually he lifts his hand and rests the pad of his forefinger on the tip of your nose.

“I like you so much,” he murmurs.

An embarrassed grin sweeps over your face. You nestle your face into his chest vigorously, and he laughs.

“Like you too,” you hum, sandwiching one of his legs between yours and snuggling in. “I’m also right.”

“Hope so,” he murmurs, and then his arm curls comfortably around you. “Go back to sleep.”

“You sleep, you need it more,” you mumble, and he chuckles.

“I’ll sleep well with my weighted blanket,” he teases you, hand squeezing your side reassuringly.

You grin and press a kiss to his chest. “Not as well as I’ll sleep with my body pillow.”

“You’re on,” he whispers, and you’re out like a light before a full minute passes.