⋆˚꩜｡kay ⋆˚꩜｡

and you'd gone quiet. not the intentional kind, just the kind where something hot and hurt balls up in your throat and you can't make yourself speak even if you want to. you'd pulled your head out of his lap and sat with your knees up and your chin on them and stared at the telly without seeing it, and he hadn't noticed for a full eleven minutes. you counted.

when he finally looked up, he could tell something was wrong, but instead of apologizing he got defensive. said you were being dramatic. said he'd had a long day. said "you're always like this when i'm tired, you take everything personally," which was such an unfair thing to say that you'd actually laughed, a single humorless exhale through your nose, and picked up your bag and gone to the guest room without another word.

that was two days ago.

you'd tried, yesterday. you'd made tea and brought him one and sat on the arm of the sofa where he was watching match footage and held the mug out and said "can we talk about it?" and he'd paused the screen, looked at you, looked at the tea, and said "i don't think i did anything wrong, honestly."

so. that was that.

now it's day two of proper silence and you're on the sofa in one of his hoodies and a pair of panties, legs tucked under you, watching a film you picked more or less at random from his streaming queue. something with a pretty boy in it—glen powell or one of those, all charm and jawline and white teeth—and you don't even care, you genuinely don't, you're not even following the plot, you're just letting the colors and noise wash over you while your brain does its sad angry loop in the background. jude is somewhere in the flat. you haven't seen him in an hour. you haven't spoken to him since this morning when you passed him in the hallway and he opened his mouth to say something and you looked through him like he was a window and kept walking.

the film is fine. glen powell takes his shirt off on screen and you shift, adjusting the blanket over your lap, and reach for your water. that's the moment jude walks in.

he doesn't say anything. he stands in the doorway for a second, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you watch the screen. you can feel him looking but you don't turn. you take a sip of water. on the tv, glen powell is doing something charming with his mouth, smiling at his costar, and you can feel jude's energy shift from across the room, the way it goes watchful and tight.

he crosses to the kitchen. opens the fridge. closes it. comes back. stands behind the sofa, not sitting, just hovering, and you can hear him breathing. you keep your eyes fixed on the screen with more determination than the film deserves.

"good film?" he asks.

you don't answer. you're giving him the silent treatment, and it's his own fault, and you're not going to crack first, you're absolutely not.

he sits down. not on his end of the sofa—he sits right next to you, close, his thigh pressing against your tucked-up knees, and reaches for the remote in your hand. you let him take it because you're not going to fight him for a remote, that's childish, but you also don't look at him.

"what're we watching?" his voice is careful, light, like he's trying to sound casual and overcorrecting.

you stare at the screen. glen powell is shirtless again. you hadn't noticed the first time but he's really quite fit, actually—all lean muscle and easy confidence, the kind of bloke who knows exactly how good he looks and doesn't have to try. you let your eyes track the movement of his body on screen, a slow deliberate consideration, and you feel jude tense next to you.

"is this that new one?" he tries again. "the romcom?"

nothing from you. not a flicker. you reach for your water again and take a long slow sip, and on the screen glen powell laughs, head tipped back, throat long and golden, and you shift again, settling deeper into the cushions like you're getting comfortable, like you're really invested.

jude's hand lands on your knee. just rests there, big and warm through the blanket, his thumb brushing a small circle against the side of your kneecap. you move your knee away, not dramatically, just shifting position, and his hand falls into the gap between your thighs.

he tries again. his hand slides up your calf under the blanket, palm hot and wide, fingers curving around the back of your leg. you let him get about halfway up your shin before you swing your legs off the sofa and stretch them out on the other side, as far from his hands as possible, and pull the blanket up to your chin like a cocoon.

"you're not talking to me?" he says.

wow. incredible observation. you keep your eyes forward and watch glen powell do something with a car.

jude shifts closer. the sofa dips under his weight and he's right there, hip against your hip, shoulder against your shoulder, close enough that you can smell him—that clean warm smell that's just his skin and his detergent, the one that makes your brain go soft and stupid when you're not furious with him. you hold firm. you think about "you're always like this." your jaw tightens.

"babe." his voice is lower now, closer, his mouth near your ear. "come on. talk to me."

you turn your head—not to look at him, but to look at the tv more directly, angling your body toward the screen like you're really absorbed. glen powell is doing a bit now where he's fixing something under a sink and his arms are flexing and he's got grease on his cheek and it's all very cinematic and attractive and you feel literally nothing about it but jude doesn't know that. jude sees you looking. you let your lips part, just slightly, and tilt your head.

"he's fit," you say to the screen, quietly, conversationally, like you're talking to yourself. your first words to him in two days and they're about another man. you feel jude go still beside you, the kind of stillness that's not calm, the kind that's gathering.

"what?" his voice is flat.

"mm." you curl your tongue against your teeth, consider the screen. "like, really fit. look at his arms."

silence. a long, loaded, crackling silence. you can feel the heat of him beside you, the rigid line of his posture, the way his breathing has gone shallow and controlled. his hand is on his own thigh, you can see it in your periphery, fingers pressed hard into the muscle, knuckles tight.

"is that what you're into now?" he says, and his voice has changed. not angry exactly—there's something underneath the anger, something rawer. jealousy looks good on him, you think, and then feel petty for thinking it, and then don't care.

you shrug, one-shouldered. "i'm just watching a film, jude."

"you're staring at him."

"i'm looking at the screen. he's on the screen. what do you want me to do, close my eyes?"

his jaw works. you can hear it, the click of his teeth, and you keep your gaze fixed forward, heartbeat picking up in your throat because you can feel him unraveling next to you, the careful composure starting to fray. he shifts and his hand finds your thigh again, high up, just where the hoodie ends and bare skin starts, and his fingers press in—not gentle anymore, not the soft circles from before. a grip. 

"jude—"

"no, go ahead." his voice is low, rough at the edges. "tell me more about how fit he is."

there's something dangerous in his tone now, something that makes heat pool low in your belly, and you feel your breath catch. you should stop. you should turn to him and say "i'm mad at you, you were a dick, apologize," but instead you tilt your head again, looking at the screen where glen powell is now wet, for some plot reason, shirt plastered to his body, and you say, "he's got nice shoulders."

the sound jude makes is barely human. it's a low thing in the back of his throat, frustrated and hot, and then his hand tightens on your thigh and he moves—in one fluid motion he's pulling you across the sofa and into his lap, dragging you sideways until you're sprawled half over him, your back against his chest, your legs across his thighs, and his arms lock around your waist like a vice. you squeak, more from surprise than protest, and try to sit up, but his arm across your stomach pins you down.

"what are you doing—"

"shh. watch your film."

his mouth is at your ear, his breath hot against the shell of it, and his hand flattens against your stomach over the hoodie, palm wide and heavy. he doesn't move it, just holds it there, warm and possessive, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back, fast and hard.

"jude, i'm still mad at you."

"i know."

"so let me go."

"no."

his chin hooks over your shoulder, stubble scraping the side of your neck, and he watches the screen with you, or pretends to. you can feel his eyes on the side of your face instead, tracking every flicker of your expression.

glen powell smiles at someone on screen and you don't react, but jude's hand on your stomach slides lower, just an inch, fingertips dipping under the waistband of your panties, and your stomach muscles clench involuntarily.

"you still watching?" he murmurs against your ear.

"yes," you lie.

"good." his thumb traces a slow circle on your hipbone, just above the elastic, back and forth, and it's such a small thing but your skin is on fire where he touches you. "tell me if he does anything interesting."

your mouth is dry. on screen, glen powell is doing absolutely nothing interesting but you can't look away because if you turn your head your mouth will be right there, right next to jude's, and he'll feel how fast your breathing has gone. his other arm is under your shoulders, curled around so his hand can rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking the line of your throat, and you can feel your pulse hammering against his finger.

you try to keep your eyes on the screen, try to keep your breathing even, but you’re hyper-aware of every place he touches you, the way his fingers dip and pause, testing the softness of your skin. you’re not sure if you’re winning or losing whatever game this is, but you’re not about to give in first. you cross your ankles, shift your weight, feign indifference.

he sighs, soft and close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “hey.” it’s so gentle it almost doesn’t register as speech, just a vibration down your neck. you don’t answer, chin tilted stubbornly toward the tv, jaw tight. his hand squeezes your hip, just a little, grounding. “can you look at me?”

you hold out for a heartbeat, two, then let your head turn, just enough to catch him in your periphery—his hair a little mussed, lashes low, mouth set in a line that’s more regret than irritation. he looks tired, vulnerable in a way he usually hides under jokes and bravado, and something in your chest loosens, just a little.

“i was a dick,” he says, voice low, words threading right under your ribs. “i know i was. checked out, said some shit i shouldn’t’ve. that’s on me.” his knuckles brush your stomach, a nervous little fidget. “i’m really, really sorry.” he hesitates, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite say. “i don’t ever want to make you feel like you’re just… background, yeah? and i did. that’s not fair.”

the apology lands heavy and real, no deflection, no blame. your shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out in a slow exhale you didn’t know you were holding. you want to say something sharp, something that’ll make him squirm a bit longer, but you can’t—not when he’s looking at you like that, all open and raw.

you shift in his lap, finally letting yourself lean back against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. he wraps his arms around you, pulls you in until you’re snug and safe and pinned in the best way. his nose finds your hair, breath warm at your scalp. you can feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven, matching yours.

“wasn’t nice,” you murmur, the words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “you can’t just wave me off, jude. i wait all day to see you.”

“i know,” he says, immediate, earnest. “i’m a knob. i’ll do better, swear.”

you let him hold you for a long moment, the only sound the movie and the steady rise and fall of your breathing together. his hands trace idle patterns along your thighs, moving slow, not asking for anything, just touching, reminding you both that you’re here, together, and the storm is passing.

still, a small, impish spark flares in your chest—you’re not above a little payback, not after two days of cold shoulders and turning away in bed. you stretch your legs, arch your back just enough that your ass presses more firmly into his lap, and you catch the subtle hitch in his breath. you smile, just barely, and shift again, letting your hips roll in a lazy, innocent-seeming movement.

“so,” you say, voice light, “should i keep watching, or…?”

he’s quiet, his hands tightening on your thighs, but his voice is steadier now, playful at the edges. “depends. you still staring at him?” he flicks his chin at the screen.

you hum as if considering, eyes on glen powell’s broad, too-perfect smile. “he’s alright. bit too clean-cut, maybe. not really my type.” you let that hang in the air, a baited hook.

jude laughs, low and genuine, relief threading through the sound. “nah, you like trouble,” he murmurs, hands sliding up under the hem of your hoodie, fingers splaying across your bare stomach. “you like me.”

his lips find the side of your neck, soft at first, then firmer, kissing along your jaw, a trail of heat and stubble that makes you shiver. “let me make it up to you, yeah?”

you tip your head, offering him more skin. “that depends,” you tease, “you gonna put your phone away this time?”

he grins against your throat, mouth curving with mischief. “can’t even remember where i left it.” his teeth graze your pulse point, gentle, then he soothes the spot with his tongue, his hands sliding higher, cupping your breasts. he squeezes, slow and deliberate, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebble under his touch.

you gasp, arching into him, the movie utterly forgotten. “jude—”

“shh. just want to feel you.” his voice is a rasp in your ear, all focus now, all intent. he shifts you, turning you in his lap until you’re straddling him, knees bracketing his hips, your hands braced on his shoulders. he tilts his head up, eyes dark and hungry, searching your face for any sign you want him to stop.

he kisses you then—deep, claiming, tongue slipping between your lips to taste you. his hands find your ass, squeezing, rocking you against the hard length of him under his sweats. you moan into his mouth, breathy and desperate, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

“thought you’d never talk to me again,” he mutters between kisses, voice thick with want. “nearly lost my mind.”

you nip at his bottom lip, tugging until he groans. “maybe i should make you work for it.”

he laughs, but it’s rough, desperate. “i’ll do whatever you want, babe. just… let me show you how much i missed you.”

he stands, lifting you easily, carrying you to the bedroom with your legs around his waist, mouth never leaving yours. he lays you back on the bed, climbs over you, his body pinning you down in a way that makes your blood sing.

his hands are everywhere—pushing the hoodie up, trailing down your sides, thumbs stroking the soft skin of your hips. he kisses down your chest, slow and reverent, tongue flicking over your nipples, sucking one into his mouth until you’re panting, hips rolling up desperately to meet him.

“please,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging until he groans.

“yeah, baby?” he murmurs, voice shot through with heat. “what do you need?”

“need you,” you breathe, shameless, “need you now, jude.”

he grins, wicked and loving all at once, and slides your panties down your legs, tossing them aside. his fingers find you, slipping through wetness, circling your clit until you’re arching off the bed, your moans filling the room. he slides two fingers inside you, curling just right, and you gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

“god, you’re perfect,” he mutters, watching your face as he works you open. “so fucking perfect for me.”

you’re almost there when he pulls away, and you whine, chasing his touch. he shucks his sweats down, cock springing free, thick and flushed, and lines himself up, eyes locked on yours.

“look at me,” he whispers, and you do, holding his gaze as he pushes into you, slow at first, the thick head of his cock parting your slick folds, pressing right where you’re swollen and desperate. your gummy walls stretch around him, tight and pulsing, sucking him in with a wet, obscene slick that echoes in the hush of the room. 

his breath stutters and his eyes flutter shut, jaw flexing as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. you feel impossibly full, every nerve ending lit up and aching, the stretch just shy of too much, just perfect.

he holds there, deep, his hips pressed hard to yours, his hands bracketing your waist. you shift underneath him, legs falling open wider, greedy for every inch, and he groans—low, broken, like he’s barely holding himself together.

your fingers clutch at his back, nails dragging red lines down his skin, and he starts to move—slow at first, rolling his hips with languid, teasing thrusts, the thick length of him grinding deep, filling you until your toes curl and your breath comes out in shaky little whimpers. your slick drips down his shaft, pooling hot and sticky where your bodies meet, every thrust drawing a sticky, filthy sound that makes your cheeks burn.

every time he pulls back, your cunt clings to him, walls fluttering, greedy and wanting, and he watches you, eyes dark and fixed on your face, drinking in every gasp and bitten-off moan. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough, “so fucking pretty like this. all mine.”

he leans down, mouth finding yours, swallowing your cries as he picks up the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper, driving into you until the headboard thuds the wall. you arch up, chest pressing to his, nipples dragging against his skin, and he sucks a bruise into your neck, tongue flicking over your pulse, stubble burning a raw, sweet trail down your throat.

“jude—oh, fuck—” you pant, legs shaking around his waist. you can feel every ridge, every vein, the thick heat of him spearing you open, the way your walls squeeze and milk him on every thrust. your cunt is a wet, sloppy mess, slick coating his cock, dripping down to soak the sheets.

he grins against your skin, breath hot by your ear. “you like that, yeah? you like me fucking you like this?” his hand slides down, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, filthy circles that make your whole body jerk, pleasure spiking bright and sharp through you.

you nod, wild, desperate, unable to form words, just moaning for him, the sound raw and needy. he fucks you harder, faster, hips slamming into yours, the slap of skin on skin echoing, your cunt spasming around him with every stroke.

“gonna come for me?” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw, thumb moving faster, relentless on your clit. “want you to, baby. wanna feel you squeeze me...”

the pressure crests, white-hot and dizzying, and you shatter around him, cunt clenching in powerful, rhythmic waves, slick gushing over his cock. you cry out, voice breaking, body locking up as you ride the high, every nerve lit up with pleasure.

he keeps going, fucking you through it, groaning as your walls flutter and grip him. “fuck—gonna—shit—” his rhythm stutters, hips jerking erratic, and he buries himself deep, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you up, your walls milking every drop.

he collapses over you, breath ragged, mouth finding yours in a slow, sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth and sweet, exhausted laughter. his cock twitches inside you, still hard, and you shiver, hips rocking up for more, greedy even after you’re both wrung out and trembling.

he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, smiling against your skin. “sorry again,” he murmurs, voice soft, sated, and you laugh, burying your face in his neck, arms winding tight around his back.

“don’t you dare do it again, bellingham.”

“Is that mine?” 

You look down at the old t-shirt you threw on before climbing into bed, the colors slightly faded and the neckline stretched from years of use. “Yeah,” you say without much of a second thought, turning off the lamp. Baekhyun’s face is plunged into darkness, but not before you take in the sight of his expression: lips parted slightly, dark eyes shining with interest and a bit of something unreadable. “Do you want me to change?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly before recovering smoothly. “You should wear it. It suits you more anyways.”

That’s the end of that, but you notice that he sleeps with his hand firmly resting on your upper thigh. 

It doesn’t end there either. Whenever you go to bed you notice how his eyes linger, dragging generously over your body, hovering over the tops of your thighs as they peek out under the hem. You have half a mind to call him out for it, but the truth is you want to see him wriggle a little, make him squirm. So, you wear them more often and even throughout the day, lounging on the couch on your stomach, the hem riding up just barely over the curve of your ass. 

You’re not a stranger to Baekhyun’s stares. The thoughtful one when you’ve just said something he wants to remember, the frustrated one where his skin creases ever so slightly between his eyebrows, even the one that you’ve only caught small glimpses of, the way he looks at you with adoration when he thinks you’re not looking. But this… is something else. When you wear his shirts and parade around in them, not so subtly flaunting yourself in front of him, he gives you a new look that you haven’t yet seen. It’s beyond just being turned on (another gaze of his that you’ve gotten quite used to). Instead, it feels like you’re being swallowed whole, burning to a crisp underneath the weight of his stare. It feels magnetic, calling out to you, pulling you in.

But for some reason, Baekhyun, who’s never been shy to reach out and take what he needs, has remained frustratingly still throughout all of your days of teasing.

You simply have to take matters into your own hands.

A just barely innocent enough mirror selfie wearing one of his button-downs, perfectly timed for when he’s stuck at the office working late. You leave several of the buttons undone, the lace of his favorite bra of yours peeking above the fabric. 

waiting for u to come home ^-^ <3 

He doesn’t answer. At first you think that maybe he’s truly so swamped with work that he hasn’t gotten a chance to see your message, and maybe you should pivot into preparing for a cozy night to help him unwind. To your surprise, you hear the tinkling of the keys in the door a mere thirty minutes after you send the message, way before you’re expecting him to return.

“Everything okay?” you ask when he appears in the bedroom doorway. You sit up at the edge of the bed. “I thought you weren’t gonna be back for another hour.”

He has that look again, the one that makes your insides run warm instantly. “Had to come home right away,” he murmurs, taking a step towards you. Something about the air shifts, immediately becoming darker, hotter, his hunger settling like a haze. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”

“I haven’t been doing anything,” you say, feigning innocence.

He laughs, a deep, low chuckle in the back of his throat. “Cute.”

“Well,” you say indignantly, “Would it kill you to admit that you like it when I wear your clothes?”

Baekhyun lifts your chin up towards him and immediately you feel the stirrings of desire deep within you. “I like it when you wear my clothes,” he says softly. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’ve been driving me crazy.”

You swallow, already feeling any sort of bravado wilting underneath his stare. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

“I didn’t have the time to properly show you just how much it’s been affecting me.” His hand drifts lower, following the dip of the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt until his fingertips graze the top of your tits. “Didn’t want to rush it.”

“We have all night,” you whisper. “Don’t we?”

That’s all the encouragement Baekhyun needs. He sinks to his knees on the floor, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties and dragging the fabric down your legs. He settles in between your thighs, the heat of his breath on your core sending a shiver down your spine. When he kisses your inner thigh, you can’t help the way that your back arches, pushing yourself into his touch.

“You’re so worked up,” Baekhyun says, voice sounding half-amused and aroused. He drags his thumb across your slit, feeling the wetness pooling there. “You like teasing me, don’t you?”

“Get on with it,” you whine. “I need you.”

“Uh-uh,” he says softly. He sucks a mark into your skin, reveling in the way that you shudder. “I told you I didn’t want to rush. I’m gonna take my time with you.”

After what feels like an eternity of soft touches and kissing up your thighs, he finally, finally puts his mouth where you want it. You sigh with relief, your hips rising to meet him halfway as he kisses your clit, tongue dipping into your hole, fucking you with unhurried precision. 

Baekhyun truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to rush. His lips brush against you with reverence, slowly taking you apart second by second. Just because the pace is slower doesn’t mean it’s any less devastating. He knows exactly when to lap at you harder, when to insert two of his long, slim fingers inside you, pressing steadily against that spot that makes you see stars. 

“Oh, Baek—” you whisper, burying your hands in his hair. “Feels so good.”

He groans against you, almost inaudible underneath the wet, slick sounds of your cunt. His free hand slides up your stomach, underneath the fabric of the shirt, grasping at your tits as he sucks on your clit. “Yeah?” he murmurs. He pulls back and purses his lips, letting a glob of spit fall onto your hole. He pushes it in with his fingers, watching it in awe. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I want it.”

He ducks his head back down, hooking both arms around your thighs as he pulls your body towards him, lapping at your cunt like a man starved. The sudden change of pace is brutal, devastating. His tongue flicks against your clit while he fucks you deep with his fingers, curling them perfectly. It doesn’t take long at all for your body to cave, your orgasm ripping like fire underneath your skin. You cum with a cry of his name, loud and unabashed, your fingers gripping his hair.

You reach out to pull on his arm, urging him to switch spots but he ignores you, spreading your trembling thighs open once more. “You don’t think I’m done yet, do you?” he asks before burying himself back against your core. 

“F-Fuck!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. Each pass of his tongue feels electric, deftly swirling and sucking in a way that makes your head spin. “Baby, please. Hold on—”

“Nah,” he grins wickedly, sinking his fingers back inside you. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He takes you apart just like this: slowly, teasing, again and again and again. You lose track of how many times your thighs clamp around his head, your voice cracking with each moan. All you have to ground you is Baekhyun’s heated gaze, greedily drinking in your vision as you come apart underneath him. He can’t look away, won’t look away, would rather die than miss even a fraction of a second of this. 

He finally lets up, nose and lips shiny and slick with you, standing as he undoes his tie. You sit up to help him, undoing the button of his slacks with shaky fingers. You reach down to palm at his cock, achingly hard and already leaking at the tip. His hips pitch forward as you run your hand up and down his length, spreading his precum with your thumb. 

“You’re so hard,” you whisper, a ghost of a teasing smile on your face. 

“Can you blame me?” he grunts, eyes screwing shut. “You’re so fucking hot it’s unreal.”

He finishes undoing his shirt and you lean forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest and stomach as you begin to jerk him off faster. His hand wraps around to cup the back of your head, holding you close to his skin. He smells so very faintly of the cologne he applied this morning, but also of something that can only be described as him. 

“Tell me what you want,” he gasps. “How do you want to be fucked, sweetheart?”

“Wanna ride you,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. 

Baekhyun groans, quickly ridding himself of the rest of his clothing before joining you on the bed. You position yourself above him, dragging the tip of his cock against your folds. “Feel how wet I am for you?” you whisper, bending forward to kiss his jaw. 

“Yes,” he breathes, reaching one hand out to hike the shirt higher up your thighs. “God, please.”

Slowly, you sink down, biting back a moan until you’re fully seated, trembling on his cock. Baekhyun’s head lolls back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, fuck, baby,” he rasps, hands twisting in the sheets below him. “God, you’re fucking squeezing me.”

You lift yourself back up and fuck down onto him in the way you know that he likes, fighting through the sensitivity that threatens to burn you from the inside out. You roll your hips, bouncing up and down with enough force to shake the bed, chasing your own pleasure with an unmatched ferocity.

Baekhyun stares, eyebrows drawn together in pleasure, taking in the sinful vision of you above him, your flushed face and parted lips, the way he can see your tits bouncing underneath the shirt—his shirt. The realization pulls something primal out of him, a shaky sort of all-encompassing feral need. He pulls you towards him, catching your lips in a kiss while he unbuttons the shirt, fingers tracing bare skin as it’s revealed to him. 

“You’re shaking, angel,” he murmurs, pushing the fabric off of your shoulders. “Does it feel that good?”

You let out a breathless laugh, splaying your hands on his chest for better leverage as you up the pace of your hips. “Cocky, are we?”

Baekhyun plants his hands firmly on either side of your hips and thrusts up into you, sharp and mean. You cry out, hands scrabbling onto the headboard to hold on tight before he begins pounding into you from below. “Lemme ask you again,” he says, grunting from exertion. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yes!” you sob, screwing your eyes shut. The pleasure is white-hot, fire rolling through your body and singing behind your eyelids. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” he commands. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

It’s instant, the way your body bows for him, curling in on yourself as your orgasm overtakes you. He fucks you through it, his grip on your body tight and unyielding, his muscles flexing with each movement. You gasp with each motion, your stolen breath hitching with each thrust, every movement setting your insides alight with flame. 

He helps you off of him and positions you on your elbows and knees, burying himself into you from behind. You immediately dip forward, your forehead dropping to the sheets as he sets a brutal rhythm, your moans muffled against the fabric. You take the comforter between your teeth to ground yourself, your head fuzzy and dizzy with arousal. 

You feel the weight of his body as he drapes himself over you, grinding his hips deep against your sweet spot. “You always take me so well,” he murmurs, trailing kisses up your shoulderblade until he reaches the back of your head. “Like we were fucking made for each other.”

“Oh my God,” you whine, pushing your hips back, fucking yourself onto him. The sounds are absolutely filthy, the slapping of skin on skin, the wetness spilling onto your thighs, the steady stream of downright pornographic dirty talk falling from Baekhyun’s lips. Everything from good girl to just like that, fuck yourself on my cock. It’s all too much, borderline overwhelming, but you can’t stop. How could you, when it feels this fucking good?

You whimper when you feel yourself nearing the edge once more, placing one hand palm-up next to your head, closing and opening your fingers rapidly. Baekhyun chuckles, interlacing his fingers with yours as he seats himself inside of you, his voice breaking when you clench around him. “Can you cum again for me, love?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please, Baek.”

He kisses your back once more before he reaches his free hand around to circle your clit, rolling his hips into you hard enough for the bed beneath you to rock noisily. You yell out, a mix of incoherent whines and his name, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Stars explode behind your eyelids as you shake, biting the comforter so hard your ears start to ring.

Gently, Baekhyun turns you onto your back and sinks back inside you, moaning at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering around him. He grabs your thighs and positions you so that you’re wrapped around him, legs locking behind his waist. He finally unhooks your bra, kissing and biting your chest while he waits for you to adjust.

“Aren’t you tired yet?” you ask breathlessly, voice catching on a laugh. 

Baekhyun shakes his head, smirking boyishly in that annoyingly handsome way. “Never.” He surges forward, kissing you messily as he rolls his hips, long, fluid motions that cause you to claw at his shoulders. 

His skin is damp, glistening slightly with sweat, the strands of his hair that curl over the nape of his neck sticky with it. The smell of sex, heady and heavy, hangs in the room like a perfume. He leans down and brushes his lips against your neck. 

You giggle, instinctively swatting him. “Tickles.”

He exhales out a laugh, drawing you close as he continues to roll his hips into you, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against your sweet spot. Your skin still prickles from sensitivity, your breath still hitches from time to time, but the intimacy of the closeness just hits different. The heat is settling now, dulled down from a deafening roar into a warm hearth. 

Baekhyun traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes sparkling at you like you’re the most gorgeous creature he’s ever laid eyes on. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his lips following the path that his finger drew. “My angel.”

You card your fingers through his hair and your heart squeezes at the way he follows your touch, nudging his head into the palm of your hand. “I love you,” you say. “So fucking much, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun keens, head dropping forward as his hips stutter. “F-fuck,” he groans brokenly, looking up at you through his lashes with wild, desperate eyes. “Tell me that again, please.”

“I love you.” You draw his head down, cradling him against your skin, his breath coming hot and needy against your neck. You whisper in his ear, “You’re my one and only. Mine.”

He gasps, roughly grabbing your hips as he ruts into you. “I’m yours— fuck, I love you, I fucking love you,” he sobs, frantically driving into you, chasing his own high. His body tenses up before he spills into you with a loud cry, filling you with his warm seed. He’s shaking, panting from the intensity, holding you close like it’s the only way to keep him grounded to the Earth.

You press a kiss to his sweat-damp temple, soothingly dragging your nails across the back of his scalp. Neither of you wants to move, too wrapped up in each other, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment.

Baekhyun finally lifts his head up, eyes soft with satisfaction, lips red and kiss-swollen. He kisses you sweetly, brushing the stray strands of hair out of your face. “You really are so beautiful,” he says softly. “How did I get so lucky?”

You feel your cheeks blooming with warmth as you hide your face against his chest. “You’re so embarrassing,” you mumble.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror later so you can see what I see.”

You sigh, trying to hide the way that the bluntness of his statement makes you laugh. “Seriously? We just did all that and you’re already thinking about going again?”

“What happened to we have all night?” he pouts. “That wasn’t just dirty talk for me, love. I’m seriously going to show you just how much I’ve been needing you.”

You hum, pretending to think about it even though you can already feel the stirrings of desire deep within you. “Give me thirty minutes.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-five.”

Baekhyun tilts his head, thinking. “Can we kiss for those twenty-five minutes?”

You laugh. “Yes, Baek. Of course.”

He grins, pressing his lips against yours. “Thank God.”

You don’t get to give another retort before his lips are back on you. When he shifts, you feel him move inside you, sending a shiver up your spine. You’re in for a long, long night, but you couldn’t be happier.

loverboy baekhyun who cums when his partner says i love you who's with me

it was a private, searing look that lasted no more than two seconds before he deliberately turned his attention back to the conversation. but it was enough. a current arced between you across the crowded room, a secret energy. your stomach clenched, a familiar heat pooling low in your belly.

this was the game you played. the delicious, maddening, terrifying game of being his secret. six months of stolen glances, of coded text messages, of quick, desperate encounters in back hallways and darkened cars. the secrecy was a kind of constant low level hum of danger that made every touch feel risky. but nights like tonight, surrounded by everyone you were hiding from, were a special kind of torture and thrill.

"are you even listening to me?" hae, hoseok's girlfriend, nudged your arm playfully. you blinked, snapping back to the present. "sorry, zoned out for a second. what were you saying?"

"i was asking if you've seen the view from the terrace yet. it's insane. tae really outdid himself."

"i bet," you murmured, your eyes drifting back to jimin. he had moved now, standing by the large windows, staring out at the city skyline. his profile was sharp, beautiful, the line of his jaw tense. he looked pensive, distant. you wanted nothing more than to go to him, to wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek against his back, but you couldn't. you were just friends, another guest at the party. the thought was a bitter pill.

as if sensing your frustration, he turned from the window. his gaze found you again, and this time, it was heavier, more deliberate. he let his eyes linger, a slow, appreciative sweep from your face down to the bare skin of your legs, exposed by the slit in your dress. you felt the caress of his gaze like a physical touch, your skin prickling with heat. he raised his glass to you in a silent, mocking toast before taking a slow sip. the message was clear:i want you and we can't do a damn thing about it.

you clenched your jaw, taking a gulp of your own champagne. two could play at that game. you set your glass down, stood up, and made your way towards the balcony, deliberately walking a path that would take you right past him. you didn't look at him, but you felt the shift in the air as you approached. you paused by the door to the terrace, pretending to be interested in a piece of art on the wall, your back to him.

"you're playing with fire," a low voice murmured right beside your ear, making you jump. he had moved so silently.

"someone has to," you retorted quietly, not turning around. "you can't just look at me like that and expect me to do nothing."

"like what?" he asked, his voice a challenge. you could feel the warmth radiating from his body and smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne.

"you know exactly how you were looking at me."

he chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you felt more than heard. "i have no idea what you're talking about. i was just admiring the art."

you finally turned to face him, your eyes flashing. "the art? is that what we're calling it now?"

his smile was wicked, his eyes dark and alive with mischief. "the best kind. a living masterpiece." his gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second. "but you're right. it's not fair." he took a small step closer, bringing you into the shadow of a large ornamental plant near the entryway. the proximity was dizzying. "i've been thinking about that dress you wore last week; how i peeled it off you, how you tasted."

your breath hitched. "jimin, stop."

"or what?" he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "you'll make me stop thinking about bending you over this railing right now?"

a shiver raced down your spine. the risk was immense. taehyung's girlfriend was laughing with jin just a few feet away in the living room. "we can't," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"i know," he breathed, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back, his thumb stroking circles through the thin fabric of your dress. it was an innocent enough touch for anyone who might glance over, but for you, it was branding. "that's what makes it so much fun, isn't it?"

he was right. the fear, the adrenaline, it was all mixing with the raw desire to create a potent cocktail. you could feel your resolve crumbling.

"i have an idea," he whispered, his eyes gleaming. "trust me?"

you looked into his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. there was none. only confidence, desire, and that familiar, dangerous spark. against your better judgment, you nodded.

"good girl," he murmured, the praise sending another wave of heat through you. "finish your drink. walk back to your seat. in two minutes, get up and head for the main hallway. the one by the guest bedrooms. don't look back."

and then he was gone, melting back into the party as smoothly as he'd appeared, leaving you leaning against the wall, your heart hammering against your ribs. you did as he said, your legs feeling unsteady as you walked back to the sofa. you picked up your champagne, your hand trembling so much the liquid sloshed against the sides of the flute. the next two minutes were the longest of your life. you nodded and smiled at the conversation around you, but you heard none of it. all your senses were focused on the hallway, on the promise of what awaited you.

when the time was up, you stood. "just heading to the restroom," you said to no one in particular, your voice sounding surprisingly normal.

the hallway was dimmer, quieter, the thumping bass of the music a distant pulse. you saw him immediately, standing outside a door halfway down the corridor, his back to you. he didn't turn as you approached, but you knew he was aware of your every step. he pushed the door open; a guest bedroom, not the bathroom - and gestured for you to go in.

"jimin, no," you protested in a harsh whisper. "someone's bedroom?"

"relax," he said, following you in and closing the door. the click of the lock was unnervingly loud in the sudden silence. "it's the spare room. no one's been in here tonight." he took your hand, his grip firm, and pulled you further into the room, away from the door. the space was pristine, the bed perfectly made, the air still. it felt like a different world.

"this is insane," you breathed, but you were already moving into his embrace, your body betraying your words.

"completely," he agreed, his lips finding yours. the kiss was desperate, hungry, six months of pent-up frustration and longing pouring into it. his hands were everywhere, tangling in your hair, sliding down your back to cup your ass and pull you flush against him. you could feel how hard he was, the rigid length of him pressing insistently against your stomach through his trousers.

you moaned into his mouth, your own hands roaming his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath the silk shirt. you wanted to feel his skin, to taste him, to have him in a way that was impossible in this room, on this bed, with a hundred people just outside. the frustration was agonizing.

"i need you," you gasped, breaking the kiss.

"i know, baby. i know," he soothed, his forehead resting against yours. "but we can't. not here. not like this." he took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. when he opened them, they were dark with a new kind of intensity. "but i can't leave you like this. and i can't go back out there like this."

he took your hand and guided it down to the front of his pants, pressing your palm against his straining erection. "see what you do to me?" he groaned. "this is your fault."

a thrill went through you, a surge of feminine power. "then let me fix it," you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

his breath hitched. "here?"

you nodded slowly, a slow smile spreading across your face. the idea was reckless

a slow, wicked grin spread across jimin's face, his eyes darkening with a mixture of surprise and raw, unadulterated lust. "here?" he repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "right now?"

"right now," you confirmed, your confidence growing with every passing second. the risk was a potent drug, and you were already addicted. you sank to your knees on the plush carpet, the fabric soft against your skin. the movement was graceful, deliberate, your eyes never leaving his. from this angle, you had to look up at him, and the shift in power sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to your core.

"fuck," he breathed, his hand coming up to rest on the top of your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair. "you're going to be the death of me."

you smiled, a slow, seductive curve of your lips. "i'll try to make it worth it." your hands went to the buckle of his belt, the metallic clink sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room. you both froze, listening. the party was still a distant, muffled hum of bass and laughter. no one was coming. you continued, your fingers working with practiced ease to undo his trousers. the zipper was next, another sharp sound that made his grip on your hair tighten.

you freed him from the confines of his silk boxers, and he sprang into your waiting hand. he was already rock-hard, the tip flushed and glistening with pre-cum. you took a moment to just look, to appreciate him in the dim light filtering in from the hallway. he was beautiful, perfectly formed, and the knowledge that you were the one who made him this way, who could reduce the confident, charismatic park jimin to this state of desperate need, was heady.

you leaned forward, not taking him into your mouth yet, but letting your warm breath ghost over the sensitive head. he shuddered, a low groan escaping his lips.

"stop teasing," he pleaded, his voice strained.

you smirked and finally gave him what he wanted, swirling your tongue around the tip to taste the salty bead of moisture there. his hips jerked involuntarily, a choked sound catching in his throat. you took him into your mouth then, slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he hit the back of your throat. you relaxed, taking him deeper still, your nose buried in the coarse hair at his base.

"jesus christ," he hissed, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. "your mouth… so fucking perfect."

you began to move, establishing a rhythm that was both leisurely and intense. you pulled back until just the tip was between your lips, then sank down again, taking him deep. your hands came up to cup his balls, rolling them gently as your mouth worked its magic. you could feel his control fraying, the taut muscles in his thighs trembling under your touch.

you were so lost in the sensation, in the taste and feel of him, that you almost missed it. a sound. footsteps. not the muffled, indistinct noise from the party, but the clear, distinct click-clack of high heels on the hardwood floor of the hallway, getting closer.

panic, cold and sharp, shot through you. you froze, your mouth still full of him. jimin's eyes flew open, wide with alarm. his body went rigid, his hand tightening in your hair, not in pleasure but in a silent command to stay still. the footsteps grew louder, accompanied by a female voice, laughing.

"…so i told him, if you think i'm wearing that, you've lost your mind!" the voice was right outside the door now. it sounded like one of the stylists' assistants.

jimin's eyes were locked on yours, a frantic, silent communication passing between you. don't move. don't make a sound. you could feel his heart hammering through his shaft, the frantic pulse a stark contrast to the stillness of his body. the risk was no longer thrilling; it was terrifying. your own heart was beating so hard you were sure they must be able to hear it through the door.

the doorknob jiggled.

your blood ran cold. it was locked. thank god, it was locked. but what if they had a key? what if taehyung told them where it was?

"strange," the voice outside said. "it's locked. is someone in there?"

a second voice, closer this time, replied, "maybe it's just tae being weird. let's try the other guest room. i think i saw one down by the kitchen."

there was a moment of agonizing silence, and then, blessedly, the sound of the footsteps receding, moving away down the hall.

both of you let out silent, shaky breaths. the adrenaline was still coursing through you, making your hands tremble. you started to pull back, to end this madness, but jimin's grip on your hair tightened, stopping you.

"don't you dare stop," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous command. his eyes were blazing with a fire you'd never seen before, a mixture of fear, relief, and a primal, desperate need that overshadowed everything else. the near-miss hadn't scared him off; it had fueled him.

he began to move his hips, a slow, shallow thrusting into your mouth. "finish it," he breathed, his voice raw. "now."

the command sent a fresh wave of heat through you, washing away the fear and replacing it with a renewed sense of purpose. you redoubled your efforts, your head bobbing faster now, your tongue working feverishly against the sensitive underside of his cock. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, and he rewarded you with a guttural moan that he quickly muffled with his own hand.

"fuck, yes," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut. "just like that. don't stop."

you could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming less controlled, more erratic. his breathing was ragged, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. you looked up at his face, at the way his brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips parted as he fought for breath. he was utterly lost in the pleasure you were giving him, and the sight was the most erotic thing you had ever seen.

"right there," he choked out, his hand fisting in your hair. "i'm gonna… fuck…"

with a final, deep thrust, he came, his body shuddering violently as he spilled himself down your throat. you swallowed quickly, your throat working to take every last drop. you continued to suck him gently, milking him through his orgasm, until he was completely spent.

he slumped against the door, his body limp, his chest heaving. you slowly released him, tucking him back into his trousers and refastening his belt with nimble fingers. you rose to your feet, your knees a little stiff, and met his gaze.

he looked wrecked. his hair was messy, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were heavy-lidded with satisfaction. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a kiss that was less about passion and more about gratitude, and possession.

"you," he said, his voice hoarse as he rested his forehead against yours, "are absolutely insane."

"you knew that when you met me," you whispered back, a smile playing on your lips.

he chuckled, a low, contented sound. "i did." he kissed you again, softer this time, a lingering press of his lips. "and i wouldn't have you any other way."

after a moment, he pulled away, checking his reflection in the dresser mirror and attempting to smooth his hair into some semblance of order. "okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "we go back one at a time. you first. wait two minutes, then i'll follow."

you nodded, your heart already starting to settle back into a normal rhythm. you smoothed down your dress, ran a hand through your own hair, and gave him one last, lingering look before unlocking the door and slipping back out into the hallway. the party was still in full swing, oblivious.

you walked back to the living room, a secret smile on your face, the taste of him still on your lips. you had just reclaimed your seat on the sofa when jimin reappeared, looking cool and composed as if he'd simply been taking a private phone call.