testing the waters.
Title: testing the waters.
Pairing: Himchan/you
Rating: pg-13 for implied sex? I'm bad at this rating thing.
Genre: romance? I dunno, I just write them.
Disclaimer: I didn't. I promise I didn't. I didn't get close enough when I was in New York.
It starts out as an experiment. He's sitting there, quiet and distracted, and your eyes are fixed on his bottom lip. He's biting it, worrying at it a little as he thinks about god only knows what. He's biting it though, and that's enough to start you wondering how that lip would feel between your teeth. You wonder what sounds he'd make, how he'd react; he's such a princess, he'd probably pull away from you right off and chastise you.
Still, you wonder. And when you finally can't take wondering anymore, you take action instead. He doesn't look up when you stand, doesn't even notice you from the chair at his desk, and when you grab the collar of his shirt, he actually looks surprised. Those beautiful lips part, and he's just about to say something, but the words end up in your mouth when it presses against his. They taste like sugar, like a hint of spearmint mixed with creamy cool coffee, and you never knew those things could taste so good together before now. He's tense, his body rigid and his mouth frustratingly still against yours, and you start to doubt yourself.
But then he groans in quiet approval, and you can feel the vibration of it where your lips meet. It's too late for you now; everything about his lips is perfect, and all you want to do is test them to see what they can stand, what will make them react the ways you want them to, and how far he'll be willing to let you go. You pull back just enough to suck in a soft breath, and he looks at you with soft, innocent eyes that leave you absolutely no choice. His gaze practically begs for you as his hands rest hesitantly on your hips. You pull him by the collar of his shirt again, a little rougher than before, and without a word his bottom lip is between your teeth. You knead at it, just hard enough to draw the quiet whimper of a needy puppy from his chest, and when he tries to pull away you bite down more insistently and refuse to let go.
The growl that he lets out makes you blush. A tiny bit more pressure and you can taste the coppery tang of a split lip; he whines again, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer to him, and you can't help but smile. A flick of your tongue soothes the small wound temporarily, and you take a step back, pulling on him to guide him up from the chair. There's no room for you there, no stability. You need something sturdier.
You kiss him softly all the way to the bedroom, and when you reach the full bed you break away from his lips to push him. He falls backward, ever a willing little pup, and when you climb on top of him he guides you until you're straddling his sharp hips. He rolls them, ever so slightly, and it's all you can do to keep yourself from ripping his clothes off as if he's a highly anticipated christmas gift. Your hands rest on his chest, and you lean down to pepper his lips with kisses as you undo his buttons with teasing, deliberate movements.
He lets you strip him, breathless moans of approval escaping every so often when your fingertips brush along exposed skin. The shirt is gone first, and you whisper good riddance to it as he shifts to pull his arms clumsily from the sleeves. As soon as he's freed, his shirt lying under his thin form, your hands slide along his arms; fingers wrap tightly around his wrists, and you lead his arms up over his head purposefully. There's no fight in him, not a moment of hesitance as he follows your silent instructions with eyes half-closed and mouth begging for the attention of yours. He rests his hands on the pillow above his head as your hands find their way down his shoulders, fingertips dancing over skin that feels like silk even as it shivers.
Your mouth moves to his neck, and you can feel his vocal cords thrum as you scatter love marks across his skin; again he implores you to be careful. Not where they'll see, he begs. Still, he tilts his head back, stretching his neck and giving you better access to his exposed throat. You let your nose drag against his skin as you explore it with your mouth, and with every heavy breath his scent drowns your senses.
He smells like sweat and coffee. Underneath that is the scent of the cologne you bought him for his birthday; it makes him smell like a forest, like trees that reach over river rapids. He didn't like it when you first gave it to him, but now he wears it every day. The smell of him sends a shudder up your spine, and with swift movements, your hands are undoing his jeans. They hang around him, just below his slightly protruding hip bones, and with a frustrated grunt you sit up and force them down around his thighs. Your nails rake against them lightly, and he lets out a quiet yelp.
It's then that you look at him, really look at him; mostly naked, body practically quivering in its current state, hair tousled and eyes half-closed as he stares up at you with his hands resting obediently above his head, he's never looked more perfect. Even with all this bared skin and tender pink flesh, your attention is drawn back to his mouth by the way he keeps letting out little whiny, breathless moans. He licks his lips, and a moment later yours are pressed against them again. They were your catalyst, and they still taste like heaven.
You've lost your control completely now, arms wrapping around his shoulders and neck as your body floods with your own overwhelming need. And it's in that moment, almost as if he senses your weakness, that he decides to turn the tables. One of his arms wraps around you, pressing against your lower back and holding you against him as he rolls you; suddenly he's on top, your legs wrapped around his bare waist, one hand curling into your hair.
He separates his lips from yours, tongue lightly flicking against your tender bottom lip, and his playful grin makes you feel weak.
"My turn," he murmurs, one hand sliding up your tee shirt. "My turn to undo you."
The sun comes up before he's through with you. The bed is a mess, sheets pulled loose and rumpled into a sweaty pile. In the center of the tangle of blankets, you press your body to his and brush a light kiss against his collarbone as he dozes, and before you close your eyes, you decide that your experiment has been a resounding success.
I don't usually write stuff like this, but I saw a photo of Himchan in which he looked soft and innocent and it just filled my head? And my friends on twitter peer pressured me into it THEY MADE ME DO IT!!!! I posted this on tumblr after I wrote it, but I also wanted to post it here, because... well. Fic journal. Don't expect this to be a regular thing though, I'm not good at second person fics.
Pairing: Himchan/you
Rating: pg-13 for implied sex? I'm bad at this rating thing.
Genre: romance? I dunno, I just write them.
Disclaimer: I didn't. I promise I didn't. I didn't get close enough when I was in New York.
It starts out as an experiment. He's sitting there, quiet and distracted, and your eyes are fixed on his bottom lip. He's biting it, worrying at it a little as he thinks about god only knows what. He's biting it though, and that's enough to start you wondering how that lip would feel between your teeth. You wonder what sounds he'd make, how he'd react; he's such a princess, he'd probably pull away from you right off and chastise you.
Still, you wonder. And when you finally can't take wondering anymore, you take action instead. He doesn't look up when you stand, doesn't even notice you from the chair at his desk, and when you grab the collar of his shirt, he actually looks surprised. Those beautiful lips part, and he's just about to say something, but the words end up in your mouth when it presses against his. They taste like sugar, like a hint of spearmint mixed with creamy cool coffee, and you never knew those things could taste so good together before now. He's tense, his body rigid and his mouth frustratingly still against yours, and you start to doubt yourself.
But then he groans in quiet approval, and you can feel the vibration of it where your lips meet. It's too late for you now; everything about his lips is perfect, and all you want to do is test them to see what they can stand, what will make them react the ways you want them to, and how far he'll be willing to let you go. You pull back just enough to suck in a soft breath, and he looks at you with soft, innocent eyes that leave you absolutely no choice. His gaze practically begs for you as his hands rest hesitantly on your hips. You pull him by the collar of his shirt again, a little rougher than before, and without a word his bottom lip is between your teeth. You knead at it, just hard enough to draw the quiet whimper of a needy puppy from his chest, and when he tries to pull away you bite down more insistently and refuse to let go.
The growl that he lets out makes you blush. A tiny bit more pressure and you can taste the coppery tang of a split lip; he whines again, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you closer to him, and you can't help but smile. A flick of your tongue soothes the small wound temporarily, and you take a step back, pulling on him to guide him up from the chair. There's no room for you there, no stability. You need something sturdier.
You kiss him softly all the way to the bedroom, and when you reach the full bed you break away from his lips to push him. He falls backward, ever a willing little pup, and when you climb on top of him he guides you until you're straddling his sharp hips. He rolls them, ever so slightly, and it's all you can do to keep yourself from ripping his clothes off as if he's a highly anticipated christmas gift. Your hands rest on his chest, and you lean down to pepper his lips with kisses as you undo his buttons with teasing, deliberate movements.
He lets you strip him, breathless moans of approval escaping every so often when your fingertips brush along exposed skin. The shirt is gone first, and you whisper good riddance to it as he shifts to pull his arms clumsily from the sleeves. As soon as he's freed, his shirt lying under his thin form, your hands slide along his arms; fingers wrap tightly around his wrists, and you lead his arms up over his head purposefully. There's no fight in him, not a moment of hesitance as he follows your silent instructions with eyes half-closed and mouth begging for the attention of yours. He rests his hands on the pillow above his head as your hands find their way down his shoulders, fingertips dancing over skin that feels like silk even as it shivers.
Your mouth moves to his neck, and you can feel his vocal cords thrum as you scatter love marks across his skin; again he implores you to be careful. Not where they'll see, he begs. Still, he tilts his head back, stretching his neck and giving you better access to his exposed throat. You let your nose drag against his skin as you explore it with your mouth, and with every heavy breath his scent drowns your senses.
He smells like sweat and coffee. Underneath that is the scent of the cologne you bought him for his birthday; it makes him smell like a forest, like trees that reach over river rapids. He didn't like it when you first gave it to him, but now he wears it every day. The smell of him sends a shudder up your spine, and with swift movements, your hands are undoing his jeans. They hang around him, just below his slightly protruding hip bones, and with a frustrated grunt you sit up and force them down around his thighs. Your nails rake against them lightly, and he lets out a quiet yelp.
It's then that you look at him, really look at him; mostly naked, body practically quivering in its current state, hair tousled and eyes half-closed as he stares up at you with his hands resting obediently above his head, he's never looked more perfect. Even with all this bared skin and tender pink flesh, your attention is drawn back to his mouth by the way he keeps letting out little whiny, breathless moans. He licks his lips, and a moment later yours are pressed against them again. They were your catalyst, and they still taste like heaven.
You've lost your control completely now, arms wrapping around his shoulders and neck as your body floods with your own overwhelming need. And it's in that moment, almost as if he senses your weakness, that he decides to turn the tables. One of his arms wraps around you, pressing against your lower back and holding you against him as he rolls you; suddenly he's on top, your legs wrapped around his bare waist, one hand curling into your hair.
He separates his lips from yours, tongue lightly flicking against your tender bottom lip, and his playful grin makes you feel weak.
"My turn," he murmurs, one hand sliding up your tee shirt. "My turn to undo you."
The sun comes up before he's through with you. The bed is a mess, sheets pulled loose and rumpled into a sweaty pile. In the center of the tangle of blankets, you press your body to his and brush a light kiss against his collarbone as he dozes, and before you close your eyes, you decide that your experiment has been a resounding success.
I don't usually write stuff like this, but I saw a photo of Himchan in which he looked soft and innocent and it just filled my head? And my friends on twitter peer pressured me into it THEY MADE ME DO IT!!!! I posted this on tumblr after I wrote it, but I also wanted to post it here, because... well. Fic journal. Don't expect this to be a regular thing though, I'm not good at second person fics.