[Fic] The Fine Arts
Fic: The Fine Arts
Author: Coley Merrin
Pairing: Tablo/Girl!Eunhyuk
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Smut~
My beta indicated this might ought to come with a "please do not try this at home" warning. XD Clearly fiction =/= real life~ Just a bit of fun. But it's important to keep betas happy. ;) (no manacles required, lol)
***
If you're not turned on before you go looking, then you're just going to be thinking with the wrong parts, aren't you? Heechul had offered. Then you're just thinking instead of feeling how much you need to get laid.
She had argued back that if her brain was engaged, then at least she wouldn't accidentally go home with someone she'd regret. And definitely not someone married. But Heechul had just laughed at her. But it was the plan. Get laid. One night. Because it had been too long since she'd gotten any, from anyone but herself anyway. Her little purse had just about every variety of condom invented, and a few extra sizes. Heechul apparently had a collection and shared to her blushing amusement.
"All within their expiration," Heechul assured her. "A few other friends and I have an exchange. Take a few extra. Just in case."
Though Heechul had a boyfriend and had been committed to him for ages. She wondered what he thought of her condom collection. But it didn't matter. The advice had been taken, sort of. Her feeling utterly conspicuous in the women's bathroom, standing toward the door and carefully positioned so as to look natural. Very careful not to touch anything in the stall whatsoever, and too tense at first to even get into the gentle rhythmic circles her fingers were molding into her panties. She imagined a man, his hands on her waist, imagined it was his hand touching her instead. Letting her head drop back as she felt the warmth rise, the subtle, empty ache as everything in her tightened, wanted. Her opposite hand rose, brushing lightly over the front of her shirt, feeling her breasts tighten with pleasure. Too much time, she thought. People could be waiting. It was just a tease. An appetizer, she hoped, for things to come. She almost laughed. Yes. Things to come. And he let the gentle throb propel her out the door to wash her hands, and back into the bar.
She tried not to bite off her freshly applied lipgloss, thankfully secure enough that she didn’t wobble in her heeled ankle boots. It was incredibly hard to feel sexy while wobbling. She thought there was probably a rule about that somewhere. She tried to walk casual, slow, but that was somewhat hard. Because even a little flushed and needy, she still had nerves. She didn’t pick up guys with the intention of getting them into her pants every day. Or any day, for that matter. And it had been a year and a half since she’d broken up with the last man she’d allowed knowledge of her pants at all. Heechul assured her she wasn’t a slut for wanting sex. Or to want to remember what sex was like, for that matter. Hopefully like riding a very sexy bicycle. And with a man she’d like to ride double with.
Her eyes scanned, as well. Men, different sorts and faces. She hissed, kind of wishing then that she’d finished what she started in the bathroom. But with the edge of need off, would she have been as hungry? It wasn’t like she was a one hit wonder. But she kind of wanted her first orgasm of the night to be because of someone else.
There were men that were part of couples, and she didn’t even focus on them. Poaching was far off limits. Little gaggles of men chatting, some of them drinking into a stupor. She didn’t think a drunk man was going to do much for her. In any of the ways she needed, anyway. In and out and him snoring wasn’t exactly part of her plans. And she could still hardly believe she had plans. She could call it off, but she really didn’t want to. If it turned into a fiasco, she’d learn and try something else. But there had to be a healthy, young, reasonably attractive man who didn’t seem like a drunk creep. If he wasn’t there, then she’d find him. Somewhere.
She smiled her thanks when her drink arrived, something very light in alcohol content. She leaned ever so casually back against the bar, and for a moment scanned, until her eyes focused on a small group of laughing men. There was a pitcher of beer, but they weren’t obnoxious as though they’d drank half the kegs in Seoul. A couple were older than she really preferred, but as she started to look away, one of the others swiveled. And for a second she almost thought he scanned her body. She focused on her drink, and when she glanced back up, was startled to actually meet his eyes. She drank hastily, half turning, cursing herself. Right, like getting freaked out because of meeting a guy’s eyes was conducive to getting laid. He’d looked kind of amused, probably from what his buddies were talking about. Strong cheekbones. Good looking. Intelligent eyes. She heard laughter, and glanced up only to see the man standing, grabbing his jacket. Leaving, then, she thought with some disappointment. Though none of the other men stood with him. And she caught sight of legs in dark jeans, and they weren’t moving toward the door. She swallowed hard, hoping her fluster wasn’t obvious. He was coming towards her.
Her chance, she realized. Maybe. If he actually stopped next to her. And she couldn’t blow it. Another part of her brain chuckled that she could blow it if he wanted her to.
He leaned against the bar beside her, and shot her a smile. And she realized he was even better looking than he had been across the room. All of Heechul’s advice seemed to be working. Maybe she did look ripe for picking. He leaned in and she got a whiff of some kind of aftershave or cologne.
“I hope you won’t crush me and tell me you’re waiting for someone.”
“No, I’m not waiting for someone,” she answered.
“I could say something corny to that, but how about I introduce myself and offer to buy you a drink?”
She laughed. “Orange juice, then.”
“Orange juice. I’m Tablo.”
She smiled. “Eunhyuk.”
***
She was glad she switched away from alcohol. It gave her patience not to want to dispense with the small talk and just project that she was horny, and please tell her where he lived so she could start stripping. But somehow an hour went by with her laughing at his quips about his job, and getting a very familiar, possessive hand on her hip. Lest any other man think she was available. Her toes curled in anticipation. That was a very promising sign.
She leaned in close to talk to him, and after a few minutes of indecision, rested her hand on his arm. Maybe rubbing herself up against him would’ve been more obvious, but he wasn’t stupid. And she did a mental cheer every time she caught him ogling her cleavage.
“I think I’m ready to go,” she told him, hoping there was an offer implicit in that. To go and do.
“Me too,” he said, and waved at his hooting friends as they passed. He helped her into her belted jacket, shrugging on his own as they stepped out into the lightly chilly air.
“Not to be creepy or anything, but I’d like to see you home safely,” he told her as they walked together to the subway.
When she stopped, he stopped with her, and it was so simple to step forward, close enough that she could touch his face. She would’ve kissed him, too, the second she got her nerve back from meeting his eyes, but he beat her to it. And it shivered through her, the slight chill of his lips not at all masking the intent. She tasted his lips, and his arm tightened around her. The bitter edge of beer, and something else. And she gave him every opportunity to taste her, too. Thrilled when he not only did, but tipped into her. Taking her balance from her for a moment in his haste to claim her mouth. She was breathing hard, arousal simmering back through her as he petted her hair.
“Wow,” he said simply.
She swallowed all her pride, and went straight for the truth. “I think I’d rather see you home, if that’s okay.”
Not that anything she was doing was particularly safe. But if she went to his place, he wouldn’t know where she lived. That was supposing he lived alone. And it also meant she didn’t have to kick him out of her apartment, instead able to leave on her own terms. He didn’t seem like some kind of axe murderer. The odds were, and she had genuinely started to like him, that he was going to think her pretty promiscuous. Did girlfriend material girls go out and get laid by strangers? She didn’t think so. But she hadn’t exactly been looking for a boyfriend.
“I don’t think anyone’s offered to see me home before. I don’t think I could refuse.”
The humor had his lips quirking and that lit warmth in her, too.
“After you,” she teased.
He kept her hand once they got to the subway platform. And the little flicks of his thumb against her wrist had begun to drive her insane by the time he drew her to her feet. Not all that many stops from her own. On the elevator ride up his building, his hand rested on her shoulder, and she shivered. But not when he began to tease the skin of her neck. It had heat puddling through her, and she leaned into the touch. He knew. Oh, he knew.
“It’s not exactly clean,” he said, trying for excuses as he let her in. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s okay, I don’t care,” she assured him.
As long as he had a bed, she really didn’t care. Or a futon. An air mattress. A heap of blankets on the floor. She’d even settle on a couch if she had to.
“Did you want something to drink?”
Another maneuver on his part. Making sure she wasn’t just here for a quick make out, or to get his number, or whatever. But she didn’t think many women went home with guys just to get a spot in his cell phone. She let her coat hang over the back of a chair, and leaned into his chest.
“Thanks. I’m not thirsty.”
His grin seemed to say he’d been hoping that was the answer. His hands on her sides. Just as she’d imagined earlier. But no faceless man. The kiss blasted through her, soft, and dirty at the same time. An answer, and a question. His hands cupping her butt before holding her waist again.
“Did you go to the bar tonight hoping for this?” he asked, pulling her flush against him.
“Yes,” and it was said on a trembling exhale as his lips met her neck. “Oh. Tablo.”
He hissed, and hiked her up, her surprised shriek muffled on his shoulder as he carried her with him. He let her down in his bedroom, the floor chilly through her socks, and he kept her close. Scenting, kissing up the length of her neck.
“Fuck, I want you. So pretty standing at that bar in your little jeans.”
“Please.”
Her shirt went without fuss, a quick tug over her head. Leaving her in the black demi bra with the lace band and red piping that she loved so much. It helped give her a little more cleavage than she naturally possessed, but he didn’t seem to be complaining.
“You call the shots,” he said, thumbs rubbing at the edges of her bra. “You tell me what you want.”
She let her teeth let go of her bottom lip. “You.”
He finished undoing his own shirt, tossing it aside and sliding his bare arm against the skin of her back.
“Right answer.”
Her right answer came with him taking back his hands, urging her with his eyes to undo her jeans. She wasn’t sure how to be sexy, but to take it slow. Having to wiggle her hips to get the jeans started. Using her toes on the hem to hold them, so she could step out, using his arm as a prop. And when his shirt fell, she inhaled. Not a body that was in the gym hours a day, not very many visible muscles. But he was healthy and fit. And male. And she’d already decided his face was appealing, which was half the battle. So her list of hopes was more or less complete. Or it would be, at least, once they’d finished with each other. It was a good sign, she thought, grinning at him, that she wanted him even more than she had at the bar.
The hand up her back made her shiver, and the kiss, need. Looping her arms around his neck, she pressed closer, almost taking another step against him as his hand cupped between her thighs. Not even the material of her panties kept her from feeling that, and she was glad, because it felt good and she knew it would only feel better. His laugh was soft, sensual against her ear.
"You're soaking wet."
Well. She could have told him that herself.
“Lights on? Off?” he asked.
“Off,” she said immediately. “If the bathroom light is on?”
There would be enough light to see. But not enough light to make things even harsher than they already were.
“Done,” he said, kissing her, and doing as she requested. Flipping back the covers of his bed and urging her back onto it. He struggled only for a moment with the clasp of her bra, and she lay back for him, inviting him.
The sight of his body lingered in her mind, and she shivered as their skin whispered together. He was warm, and that warmth enveloped her, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. There wasn’t time to analyze, moaning into his kiss as he stroked down her side, her thigh. Her hands over his back brought a satisfied sigh.
But it was the wet of his mouth on her neck that had her arching. Had she forgotten what she wanted? He pushed up, eyes roaming from her chest to her eyes, and her skin prickled.
"You could’ve gone home with any guy there. Was I the guy you wanted there, or the one you settled for? Ah, I guess it doesn't matter," he said, smirking. "You're with me now."
The swallow was hard, her mouth so dry, but she managed. “No. You’re the one.”
And it was true. He covered her breasts with his hands, and her skin burned, the sensitive tips of her nipples scraped by the texture of his palms. The echoes were sweet, deep inside, and needy. The same as with her neck, he kissed over swell and valley. Nibbling them to tight peaks that ached as he left them behind. Exhaling against her belly, and moving lower. Going to remove the last barrier of her underwear, she figured, and was wrong. Her thighs tightening as he nosed against her, inhaling audibly against her panties. His nose pressure that she would’ve begged him to move anywhere. Anywhere that ached and needed.
His fingers eased under the waistband, and she lifted her hips for him, bending her knees to help him slide the scrap of lace and cotton over her legs. He kissed her knee while he was there, glancing up to meet her eyes.
“It’s been almost a year since I’ve had sex,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. “So you’ll have to forgive that I’m a little hungry.”
Hungry for sex, was her first thought. And her hand was ready to reach for the condoms. Hungry for something else, was her second. And she might have let out a pray on a swallowed whimper as his arms circled her thighs. Nudging at her to open for him.
She had thought it would perhaps be his fingers sliding inside her, the phantom feel of them pressing through her panties still lingering. Obviously, she expected to hand him a condom and feel him on top of her. But she never expected his tongue, odd at first and slick, tasting, sliding into her. Her gasped plea got no response. She’d never had a man do that. To go down on her, yes, but in the way that was quickest for him. Not the way Tablo was doing, exploring every crevice and fold, his fingers teasing her skin. The plunge of his tongue just made her crave more, fingers tangling in the sheet to keep from reaching and bringing herself some release. She all but quivered with need as he sated himself. And nearly lost herself, as his hand moved, making way for his mouth. Her neglected clit, tension so ripe inside her that his tongue cupping at it had her ready to climb. And he seemed to know that, starting so gently. But it didn’t matter, the steady light friction, body tense and breath stopped, and hips urging against his mouth as he took her over the edge. It sang through her, and the relief of it was like a drug. Hands curling into tight fists of satisfaction.
But he didn’t stop. Tactics changed. She garbled her words, two of his fingers slipping into her, hooking, stroking as his mouth continued. Gentle suction, his tongue, his mouth. Not building to a lightning climax as the last had been, but it was on her before she could breathe, convulsing against him as the orgasm rolled, and again, again, the shudders of her body too many to count as she panted.
“Condom?” he asked, and her brain on autopilot patted for the ones she’d brought. He laughed, and she watched as he opened on, rolling it onto his erection. Still hard for her. And she didn’t think it mattered how many orgasms she had, the aftershocks had her aching, empty, ready for him. And with her knees hooked over his elbows, it took only a thrust to get inside her, filling her. Wet enough for three of him, she mused, the sound of their bodies together. He kissed her breasts, her neck, rubbing his mouth along her skin. And she could smell herself on him. The rocking of his body, and the welcome of hers.
“You’re gorgeous,” he told her, teasing her face, her ears, with his kisses. The jangle of her earrings and the harsh puffs of his breath sending shocks through her. He let down her legs, hooking them around his waist, and the angle changed, just so. The movement of his pubic bone with hers, every thrust stimulation she had thought she couldn’t endure, and was instead reaching for. Hips meeting his, begging him as they worked together. She cried out into his neck as she came, the pleasure washing through her, eyes prickling with tears from the release of it. And he kissed her, devoured her, body almost mindless of him and her, until he tensed for her. Came for her. Thrusts and shudders and tension as her legs slid bonelessly from around him. She’d gone out looking for sex, and had gotten destroyed by it.
He still panted into the crux of her neck and shoulder, and she raised a tentative hand, petting his hair, his neck. Her whole body throbbed, undone by too much of everything. Too many orgasms, too much man. He pulled her with him, and she went, feeling all of her muscles protest, all the muscles he’d worked inside her, all the lingering, pleasurable aches there. The smell of his sweat as he cradled her head on his shoulder, the sheen of sweat on his sternum against her hand. His fingers curving over her waist. And she let it pull her into the hazy sleep of the safe and satisfied.
***
Sleeping naked was weird. That wasn’t her first thought. Her first thought ran more along the lines of realizing there was light around her that was natural and not from a lightbulb. And there was an arm over her side. And that meant she was still in bed with a man she’d known not even half a day.
With whom she’d had fabulous sex.
Oh, and also her cell phone was ringing. She gasped, scrambling out of bed to find her purse that had fallen during the night and answering just before it went to voicemail.
And crap, she was naked. She knelt, huddled over on herself and trying to trace where all of her clothes had fallen. She didn’t even see her bra. And her panties? They were still buried in his bed for all she knew.
“Heechul, I can’t talk right now,” she whispered.
“How did it go? You’re still alive and okay, right?”
“Yes, just-”
Something soft fell over her shoulders, and she looked up, surprised. And realized Tablo had gotten out of bed and had just covered her awkward kneeling self with some kind of robe. And she got an eyeful of everything else, turning red as a tomato as she clutched the phone and got her arms through the material, wrapping it solidly around her.
“So I should…”
A finger waggled under her nose, forcing her to look up his thankfully now pajama pants-clad body.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked softly.
She blinked. “Tea?”
“What?” Heechul complained, wanting to know what was going on.
“I’m fine. I have to go.” She hung up in time to see Tablo disappear out the bedroom door. She pushed up stiffly onto her feet, scuttling into the bathroom and locking the door. There was the obligatory inspection in the mirror. A mark on her shoulder, from his mouth. Her hair, looking like some kind of bird’s nest. And she looked all kinds of satisfied. A longing look was sent at the shower, but she really didn’t dare. Getting out of his apartment with wet hair as well as rumpled clothes wasn’t optimal. She settled for washing up, using her finger on her teeth and smoothing her hair down. His robe was too big for her, but she belted it tightly, prepared to brave whatever she had to in order to find her clothes. What she found was a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, and him nowhere to be found. All clothes in hand, she retreated back into the bathroom, unearthing her panties from the farthest corners of his sheets. And relatively put together and guarded, she picked up the tea, tentatively emerging into the living room she barely remembering being kissed in and carried through. He smiled up at her, a pair of glasses on his nose from where he’d been sitting, fully clothed in front of a laptop.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she answered, wondering where her “sneak out in the middle of the night and avoid awkwardness” plans had gone so wrong. Oh yeah. Probably in the middle of the great sex.
“I hope you slept okay,” he said, setting the glasses aside and making for the door, which was exactly where she’d been eyeing over the steaming cup.
“I did, thank you,” she said, putting the cup down with a bit of a clatter on his kitchen table. He was holding her jacket, she thought with relief. He knew, then. And he helped her into it, tugging her hair out of the collar for her.
And picking up his own jacket? She stared, her fingers poised where she’d been slipping a button through it’s hole.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, seeming to pause before reaching out, a bit of hope in his face. She forgot what breathing was, and he caught her hand. “Have breakfast with me?”
Oh. She hadn’t been looking for something like that. She’d been sure of that. But her fingers slid between his with such ease, that the answer she gave left her with no doubt that she’d found what she’d been wanting after all.
***
Breakfast had seemed more like a blind date than anything the night before had. Just knowing she begged off to the bathroom to do damage control not just to get herself home, but to make herself presentable enough to sit across from him for an actual meal. She should've figured out then that it was probably the wrong choice, but when the alternative had be bowling him over to get out of his door? And she had been hungry. There was that. Still, she played with her hair, wondering it was all right.
And it had been pleasant, as pleasant as a meal with two almost-strangers had any right being. And she didn’t picture him naked but the one time, and the resulting flush had kept her on the straight and narrow after that. Her appetite was a little iffy, given their acrobatics of the night before. But she was running on nerves, coffee, and a good deal of fruit and bread by the time they stood to pay.
“I know you don’t know much about me, but I’d like to see you again,” he said as they walked. “We could plan to meet again. The same night, where we met. I’ll be there a few hours so you could just come by when you were able.”
Inviting her on what was essentially a date. A real one. She didn’t trust herself to make the right choice. If she said no, she lost her chance. If she said yes, there was still a possibility that she could back out.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. She wasn’t sure why the idea of him asking warmed her so much. She’d thought she could, or at least wondered if she could, have a one night stand without an emotional backlash. And he was in essence giving her an out in another meeting. Because sleeping together, eating, and meeting again, wasn’t a one night stand. Though it did mean she might end up with two one night stands. But if he was into that, he could just find another girl. And he’d asked her.
He saw her as far as the subway entrance, kissing her briefly, discreetly. And telling her again that he’d see her next week. She listening to her footfalls as she went underground, and thought that he probably would.
***
It took three days of telling herself maybe. And then absolutely not. And then maybe again. She zoned out at the grocery store imagining his mouth on her neck. And ignored it. She forgot her ATM pin momentarily because of seeing his hands on her thighs. At night, she read and didn’t let her mind wander. Because she was ever so desperately trying to talk herself out of making her one night stand into something bigger. She could deal without sex. She didn’t need a man.
She could do what she needed, herself. Laying in bed at night, and cupping herself between her thighs. Not even bothering to move her clothes. She had fantasies enough for those nights, letting her legs widen and breath tremble out. Boyfriends, celebrities. She’d had to stop herself in the middle when she couldn’t get Tablo out of her head. Just rolling over and sticking one of her pillows between her legs instead. Fantasizing about having sex with him wasn’t the best way to stop herself from going to meet him. But the next night, it became impossible to stop. Touching her breasts in the shower and imagining they were his hands. Neck arching for imaginary kisses. Imagining him behind her as she brushed her teeth. And as her head rocked back into her pillow, the tiny sounds she made urged him as she imagined him above her. Fingers blurring at the peak as she imagined him making her come, gasping, flushed, and throbbing. Empty.
She rolled onto her side and curled into herself, the lingering, euphoric ache following her. Imagining him behind her.
And it repeated the next night. Bending over for him.
Showering with him.
His fingers inside her as they watched television.
The more racy it was, the more she told herself it was a bad idea. Even when she imagined the cuddling. And the day before she was supposed to meet him, she came twice. It wasn’t like she was possessed, he was just inspiring. And she’d been without for a long time.
She had a lot of excuses. But none that explained away the fact that she wanted him. Her mind and body were making no surprises about that.
***
She nearly turned away when she reached the outside of the bar, holding her ID and wondering what she was doing. It wasn't like he was going to magically divine who she was, or where she lived. The likelihood of her seeing someone she knew was slim, and even then they wouldn't know why she was there. Unless she got run over by a car while naked, but that was kind of stupid to contemplate. She blew out a breath, and decided that if he wasn't there, she'd get a drink and then leave. Fate telling her it wasn't supposed to be. She could find a man to date for real, and worry about the sex later.
But she spotted him almost immediately, facing the door as he was. And the speed with which he looked up and recognized her? It could only have meant he'd been waiting for her.
"Hey. You want something to drink?" he asked her as soon as she'd reached his table.
"Juice? Cranberry juice. Please."
He nodded, and offered that she should sit while he fetched it for her. She glanced around, looking to see if anyone was there that she recognized. But no one was staring at her, wondering why she was there. Just a woman dressed fairly modestly, sitting at a table and waiting for a glass of juice. That was all. And maybe, a post-juice round of sex.
She wasn't nearly as nervous. Which kind of made sense to her, and kind of didn't. For one, she didn't have to worry about where the sex was coming from. If he smelled bad, looked bad, didn't measure up. If he didn't listen, or didn't care what she wanted. All those things were possible with a man who she might have dated for weeks. And there was the possibility that since he had gotten what he'd wanted last time, since she'd come back for more, that he wouldn't care as much about pleasing her. But she'd not sensed any kind of roughness in him. Her friends knew where she was. She wasn't stupid. Maybe a little stupid. But it was different, she reasoned. He wasn't a total stranger. It wasn't quite as anonymous. The thing was, she didn't really get thrills from doing dangerous things. Not some kind of adrenaline junkie. And the fact that she wanted him still spoke to the fact that he'd been a good lover and not because she was somehow turned on by the illicitness of it all.
“How has your week been?” he asked, setting her drink down and taking his own seat.
“Fine,” she said, wary of disclosing many details. “The week didn’t seem as long as last week.”
He laughed, twisting his beer bottle. “Yes. Though it was nice to have something to look forward to at the end of it.”
There was that strange expression he got sometimes, that smug, I-know-better smirk that went with the laughing eyes. And she had no idea why she found that appealing.
But it was also nice to sit and drink, and listen to whatever music was being piped through the room. He talked about crazy things his friends had gotten up to, getting themselves home when they’d had too much to drink.
“Not that it happens much any more. We all have jobs, and hangovers aren’t nearly as fun as they were five or ten years go.”
“I’ve never actually had a hangover,” she said, laughing at his slight surprise. “Sometimes I drink, but it’s only a very little bit. I don’t think I’ve actually even ever been very tipsy.”
“You don’t need to drink to be attractive. And I don’t need to drink to find you attractive.”
Though she kind of felt drunk when she laughed, trying to hide behind her forearm as he thought about what he’d just admitted to.
“Thank you,” she said, still trying to compose herself. “That was really sweet.”
Maybe he wasn’t trying to be sweet, or maybe he was just trying to be sexy. It worked either way. One of the few men she’d had in her acquaintance who didn’t find it particularly needful to be lewd, and was just that much sexier for it. Even when she knew he had to be wondering if she was going home with him, if they were having another date. If, if, if.
No more questions, when they boarded the subway together. His breath soft against her face as they rode up the elevator in his building. Kissing her almost before her shoes were off, his arm sturdy around her.
“You need anything?” he asked, and seemed to be actually listening for all his mouth was playing with her ear.
She shook her head, too undone to speak. Let him guide her, strip her. Clothes shed without much finesse, and probably not much grace. Dark enough in the room that she shuddered into him without feeling exposed. It was her pushing him onto the bed. Crawling after, and feeling him catch her, draw her close for a kiss. Or three. And to touch her. But when he went for her neck, she stopped him. Kissing a line down his sternum, and thinking of how he had pleased her.
She moved very carefully, tracing his stomach with her fingers and lowering herself just enough. To where his erection slid against her breasts, her chest. And she knew he knew it, too. Her smile was cleverly hidden against his skin, until she reached her goal. Barely touching, skimming the length of him with her cheek. Hearing his hiss at the contact. He'd made her feel like some kind of goddess. It was her turn to give back.
And he wasn’t anything like the man she had dated before her last boyfriend. The one who had believed that it was his unalienable right as her boyfriend to be blown whenever he felt the need. Which was often. And it wasn’t like she hated the thought, but being told you should want to do it, because your my girlfriend in order to be coerced into it, had become quite a turn-off. And, she thought, a little meanly, that man hadn’t been endowed nearly as nicely as Tablo was.
Her fingers ran down his length, letting her moistened lips drag against the tip of him. Hard, and ready. She wondered what it would be like to start when he was barely aroused, to feel him grow for her. And the prospect of it made her shudder. Apparently she’d found another thing that turned her on. But the thought of it, told her she didn’t want what they were doing to stop with that night. If he came because of her mouth and hands, or if they had sex, she was keyed up enough sexually to want to make sure she had access to this, him. And all the warnings she’d heard, about being careful, about it being so hard to be able to separate emotion from sex, played through her. He’d shattered through her reserves on this same bed, and she wanted him. Her body did. Her mind did. For the man who tucked casual fingers at her waist in the subway, and who moaned quiet curses as she touched him. Who moaned again as she checked the condom, and with knees carefully arranged, lowed, ready, onto him.
"Where have you been all my life?"
And the words, his voice so rough, offhand and casual, thrilled her.
She was tense above him, hardly daring to open her eyes. Not moving, not knowing if she wanted to move. He was as deep in her as he could possibly be, and her body seemed torn between gripping him or not, some kind of endless ripple that made her want to grind against him in the lewdest way. But when she actually did open her eyes, and saw the loopy look on his face, she realized he wasn't going to care either way.
The way he looked at her when she shifted, and began to experiment with movement was unlike she'd ever seen. Like she was gold and beer and kimchi in one her-sized package.
He let the backs of his fingers trace down into her cleavage, and she swallowed hard, feeling him move, both hands sliding up under her bra to cup her breasts. Pleasing himself with her, she thought.
"Perfect," he muttered, fiddling with the clasp and pushing the straps off her shoulders. Then he wanted to see. The cool air of the room against her skin only added to the feeling of exposure. "I want to see you."
He touched her shoulders, her hair, cupping her face and leaning forward far enough to capture her mouth. The resulting twitch of her hips had them both moaning, and he kissed her again, settling back to let her do what she needed to do.
She had a hard time staying still, her eyes meeting his and down, the sliding of him inside her and knowing she was controlling it. Only her. Even in the dark she felt exposed, her movements for him alone to see. It didn’t make her care less, and her arms moved restlessly to help her hips to sway or plunge, and keep them from trying to cover herself, even it it was to reach up and play with the ends of her hair. But there was a thrill to it. A heat building between them, inside her, aching for more, faster.
"I'm not going to last very long," he said, searching her face. "Can you?"
She nearly laughed, shaking her head. She had barely begun to try, and her body was near to breaking.
"Give me your hands."
It made her pause, that offer, putting out one hand and shivering when he meshed their fingers.
"Let me help you," he said, humor winking in his eyes. Help her to move him to orgasm, and help her to move to her own.
He took her other hand, steadying her. And what should have made her stronger, for a moment made her weak. Just seeing their fingers joined. She'd wanted to give back to him after a fantastic night, after he seemed to want to see more of her. Of her. And maybe taking her hands was just a sign he wanted her to get moving, that he was ready to be done, but it seemed like a lot more. She felt free in some way to be with him in a way she'd never even dared with her boyfriends before. And it was when he squeezed her fingers between his that she realized that it wasn't all just because they were nearly strangers. Or that she was putting her trust in a man that maybe she had no right to trust. But then again, he had yet to show her otherwise.
Everything built in her. The sound of his pants, the sound of their bodies together. His chest moving, his face.
He was watching her, and his hips were moving with hers. Not taking her control, but adding to it. And she remembered him kissing her stomach, making her shake with need, and cry out for him, and she shuddered around him, the pleasure waking over her as she moved into him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his eyes on her but glazed. Too close himself, but knowing she’d came for him. For herself. She wanted to kiss him, and couldn’t, and that need drove her faster, urging him to his own end until he moaned for her. And for the first time, had a man coming for her, beneath her. She panting, needy, no longer for sexual relief, but for touch. Untangling one of her hands from his and reaching for him. A panting kiss against her mouth, the heat of his chest against hers.
His hand stroked over her hair, her back, and she felt like the world’s most satisfied cat as he breathed against the side of her face. Hearts thumping in tune as they slowed, and he stroked her side, moving just far enough to where she could lay beside him, against him. The blanket warm, and his presence comforting. His arm, not a binding, but a comfort. Was that going to be the last time with him, she wondered. But how could it?
***
She had at least thought to bring her phone closer before falling into bed, so when her phone started buzzing, all she had to do was roll over and grab it. Heechul, she thought, holding the sheet to her chest even if she was still laying down.
"Hey, yes I'm good," she said, hoping her voice or the phone hadn't been enough to wake Tablo.
"You mean you stayed over all night again?" Heechul asked. "I need details on this guy. Get a picture! Why are you so lazy."
She laughed softly, promising she'd try, and hung up. She could see her clothes, but she could also feel Tablo moving behind her.
"Good morning," he murmured, tugging her back until she could rest her head over his arm. He kissed her, and her cheek, her neck. Settling back to consider her.
"Your friend?" he asked. "Checking to see you're okay?"
"Yeah," she said, feeling a little embarrassed by it. As though she didn't trust him or something? But surely he'd understand the sentiment. "She's just… We look out for each other. Not that I do this- Except. Yeah."
He seemed to be trying not to smile. "It's good you have someone to worry."
He was sort of tangling his fingers in her hair, and she was trying to inch the sheet just that much closer as though he could see anything at all. She wasn't sure why but the morning was different. It just was.
"And I'm glad you trusted me enough to come back," he continued. "What- What do you think she'd think of me if she met me?"
She'd been sort of pondering his chin, so when those words crept through her understanding her eyes went wide, staring at him.
"I haven't told her anything bad about you," she said, the words coming to her awkwardly. "So I don't think she would think anything bad?"
"Ah, so not that I'm some creep who just hangs around taking women home with me."
She went back to staring at his chin. "I was the one who asked to go with you."
"But we were both glad you did? So now we're even."
"And just so you know, there weren't any women in between. You made quite an impression."
She all but lunged for him, the naked-angle sort of being outweighed by the fact that her face was combusting and if she didn't press her mouth some part of his shoulder, she'd start babbling like a complete fool. After a minute of resting together, he mumbled that he would make them tea if she wanted to shower. And when she agreed, he left her there in her little sheet cocoon and her privacy.
***
"You like cereal?" he asked, kind of half gesturing her to a seat at the small table and sliding a cup of steaming tea toward her.
"Who doesn't like cereal?" she wondered, and warmed her hands on the cup. She'd been smart enough at least to pack essentials. A toothbrush, some goop to control her hair, and deodorant. She even had brought a clean pair of panties, so she was ready for almost anything. Even making a cereal choice.
He had some good choices, at least. Nothing too weird or sweet, just normal. She chose a bran one she knew she liked, and went about eating it. What else was there to do? And it wasn't like he inhaled his, but he was still done way before she was, holding his coffee mug and at least not actually watching her eat.
"Are you busy this morning?" he asked.
That was a loaded question. If she said no, then he invited her to do something she'd really rather not, how did she get out of it? Making up an excuse after the fact was kind of lame. But she went with the truth anyway.
"No, I'm not busy."
"If this doesn't sound like something you'd want to do, just tell me another time, okay? But there's this museum, photography museum, that I've been meaning to get to. I do articles for a magazine, so I want to do a review on it. So it's not just that I need to work, but it'd be great to have you along, and spend some time with you. Get your opinion on it, too."
Of all the things he could've suggested, that was pretty non-offensive. She couldn't imagine running into anyone she knew there, for one thing. And the idea of going to a museum with him was appealing. She liked photography. He was fun to be with. It couldn't hurt.
"Yeah, that sounds like fun," she said, and he grinned in a way that made her know that was the answer he'd been wanting. And even without her jacket on, she was dressed to be seen in daylight, too. It wasn't like they were going back to the bar.
And when he had said it was fairly close, he meant it. Because they walked the several blocks to the building holding several galleries and museums. He didn't try to hold her hand, or touch her as she walked, except for once, guiding her around a dog being walked that was in her way.
"I'd say the owner needed a leash on him, but he already had one," Tablo joked.
"Maybe the owner was the one needing the leash."
He laughed at her joke, and opened the door to the inside for her. Even though she started for her purse, he waved her back, buying both of them admission. And she had that buzz again, as breakfast had been the week before. The date-like offering.
The opening of the museum was bright, leading to a side room with different photography-capturing mediums on display. A very old camera. A film camera. Digital. And representations of the types of media possible with each. Self developed. Digitally worked. It was fascinating to see the subject change as they circled the room.
"This would be a really neat place to bring a class," she mused.
"Yeah, I'd have loved coming to a place like this when I was in school," he said. "You work with kids?"
"Oh, this has audio," she said a little too loudly, pushing the button that gave them a short walkthrough of the film development process. And she was wincing inside. Telling him wasn't like offering her bank account and access to her blog. If he was that bad of a guy, why was she even with him? She could just leave and go find some banker or something, like her mom kept suggesting to her. But she followed and led, and whiled the morning away with him.
***
Somehow leaving the museum had turned into lunch, and lunch into a movie. It wasn't just a date, but a string of dates. And she had never had that kind of all-day, spending time with a guy before. With her friends, yeah, but it was different. Having to make him not put his feet up on the back of the theater seats in mortification, and having him thank the lady who brought them their meal. Her stimulation level had kind of hit a peak, when he turned to her on their way to the subway.
"I should let you go, because you probably have other things to do this weekend. But I promise, if I could just borrow 30 more minutes of your time. I want to show you this place. You know how I mentioned I liked music? Some of my friends and I get together and perform every week or two, so I'd just like to show it to you. And it's right near the next stop."
She agreed, not because she was burning with desire, though with curiosity, yes. But it was kind of hard to say no, given the way he'd asked her.
The music spilled out as they opened the door, and she saw what he meant, by the low stage. Intimate with the audience, almost part of it. She declined a drink, and he kind of gestured.
"So yeah. This is it."
"You sing? Play an instrument?"
"I rap," he said, and didn't seem to be bothered what she might think of it. "I write my own stuff, and so do my friends. It's a good outlet. Helps me get out some of the things I'm thinking, if you know what I mean."
She had a few songs in her music player that had raps in them. Maybe she hadn't sought out the genre, but it oddly seemed to fit him. That calm sort of confidence, and carefully chosen words. She wondered if he was any good. When the door opened behind them, she moved out of the way on instinct. And wondered at his face.
"Hey, Tablo! Look who's here."
His friends? He shot her an apologetic look.
"Sorry, I had no idea. Hey, guys."
"He doesn't want to hang out with us any more. Now we can see why."
"One night?"
"Come sit with us a second, guys."
He looked to her for her approval, and she didn't see how to say no. Again.
"Tablo has all the luck with the ladies. I'm Mithra."
“Hey, back off, I saw her first,” Tablo said mildly, sliding up onto the stool next to hers.
"It's nice to meet you," she told them, and got greetings all around.
“So what do you do?” Mithra asked her, very conversationally after a few minutes. So much so in fact that she realized that she had no good answer. Her eyes swung to Tablo’s, because she hadn’t even told him yet, and now his friends were asking her?
There was a moment of silence, and Tablo broke in. “Leave her alone, guys. I didn’t bring her for an interrogation.”
“Hey, if she’s some kind of princess, we need to know! She could be way too good for you.”
“She is way too good for him even if she isn’t a princess.”
Tablo just rolled his eyes at them, and bumped into her shoulder in support.
"What did he tell you to get you to go out with him, anyway? It must've been all lies. You could've had your pick of any of us."
Her brain, dozed on soda and food, Tablo's hand stroking her wrist, sort of perked back to life. Had her pick? She flashed back to that night in the bar, looking at the table Tablo had been sitting at. And realized at least one of the guys did look familiar. Not just Tablo's singing, rapping, whatever, friends. But the ones he'd been drinking with. That knew she had had left with him.
"I'm sorry, excuse me a moment," she mumbled, her face flushing too hot to touch.
She slipped down quickly, trying not to run or even walk too fast. Not be too obvious.
But apparently she was, because she'd barely entered the cooler, quieter corridor, when Tablo was at her elbow.
She tried to gather her brain and settled on one thing. “They were the ones at the bar with you that night?”
“Yeah. You didn’t recognize them?”
“I wasn’t looking at them a week ago,” she said, sounding exasperated when it was actually death by embarrassment. “They know I went home with you? That we-”
“No!” He was laughing at her, but serious about it as well. “No, I didn’t tell them that. All they know is I walked you to the subway. I knew we were, well. I hoped we were going to see each other this week, too.”
“I thought guys were always bragging about their scores.”
“Not if we don’t know what’s next. If it was a one-time thing, maybe? But I’ve never had a girl sleep over like that, have breakfast. Want to see her again so much. I didn’t know they were coming, but I’m not sad you met these guys, so you know I’m not an axe murderer. You don’t even trust me enough to tell me what you do for a living. Maybe you’re an axe murderer for all I know.”
“No. I’m not. You swear they don’t…?”
“All they know is that you’re the girl I met, who I was really hoping to see again.”
Her lips were trembling even as her mind raced, and she fumbled out her phone. Dialing Heechul, and putting her on speaker.
“Hey, I need you to convince someone I’m not an axe murderer,” she said, listening to Heechul laugh on the other end.
“She’s not an axe murder. Except on the weekends!”
“What?” she laughed. “And what’s my job?”
“School teacher?”
“Thanks, I’ll call you later,” she said, and all but hung up on Heechul.
Tablo, whose eyes hadn’t ever left her face, was still steady, staring. “You’re a school teacher.”
“Who goes home with guys she meets in bars. Yeah.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think that’s really cool. I love kids. I have a nephew. This weekend was probably supposed to be us deciding whether or not we wanted anything else to do with each other. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
“Me too,” she admitted.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
She stood, smiling politely as he said goodbye to his friends. Making plans to meet them or call them. And they joked that she should come back with Tablo, and possibly ditch him for one of them. Mostly in jest. A sizing up of her as she was sizing them up. As though Tablo would want to bring her back. But if he didn't want to, then why would he have brought her?
"They mean well," he told her, keeping her close as they walked out onto the sidewalk. "They're mostly harmless, but great guys, and talented."
"You really enjoy performing."
"I do. It was harder at first, but now it's relief. You should come listen sometime."
“I think I’d like that.”
He tucked a business card in her palm, when they’d gone down into the subway. “This is my number. I’ll be performing here next weekend. But feel free to call, or just show up. Either is fine. Just don’t think I’m an axe-murderer, okay?”
He kissed her, and left her standing there. And she clutched the card.
***
“Is it too much?” she wondered out loud. The dress wasn’t skeezy by any realm of the imagination. It covered her from shoulder to knee, floating out in a skirt that she hadn’t been able to leave the store without owning. And the heels weren’t sky high, but cute and, well..cute. She could see her walking into any restaurant with it on, or on any kind of date. But was it too much for a date, when the guy involved didn’t know she was showing up, and she was going to a bar she’d only been in once when it was mostly empty? Who knew what the women wore there. Jeans, maybe. He said he rapped. What was the dress code for rapping? She squished her toes tighter in the heels, and thought they really were super cute. And her legs looked good.
And she wasn’t really dressing for the bar, anyway. The men and women in it weren’t really her concern, though she didn’t want to stick out like wearing red when the dress code called for white. But, she figured she could keep her knee length coat on if she was really, utterly out of place. And she’d spent enough time agonizing over the fact that she’d showered, perfumed, made up, and otherwise wasted an hour of her life making sure she was absolutely perfect for a guy who didn’t even know she was coming. And he was going to be happy to see her. She’d convinced herself of that between showering and dealing with her hair.
The bar was not full, when she walked in. It meant she could get a drink, and actually find a small table near the wall, but also near to the stage. She got something as watered down with juice as was possible, just enough alcohol to calm her nerves. He would be happy to see her, she really didn’t have a lot of doubt. It had been a week, and not a decade. And at worst she could slink home, and spend the rest of it eating in bed in embarrassment and horror.
People were setting up for the gig, and she recognized a couple of his friends. One of which spotted her, though she waved frantically to keep him from acknowledging her. She didn’t want them to alert Tablo before the show and have it be some kind of big to-do. She just wanted to hear him, and if she could still hear after the show, have a conversation with him. And maybe a little more than that.
She thought she’d escaped it, that she could enjoy the performance largely unnoticed. Her breath caught, though, when Tablo appeared. Doing a last check of his mic and looking back at one of the other men. There were a few moments of quiet whispers, and she actually had a moment of dread. Because she knew what that conversation was, even before Tablo turned his head. Because he looked almost right at her, and she gripped the edge of her seat with one hand, sort of awkwardly nodding at him. She would’ve waved if she could’ve lifted a hand, but settled for a smile. Her presence said a lot, but suddenly he was gripping his mic with both hands and smiling down into it as he welcomed the patrons.
And her heart sort of turned. He was glad to see her.
It wasn’t an embarrassing experience. She had visions of him dragging her onto the stage, or coming down off the stage to serenade her. Which would have ended up with her in a permanent state of blushing, and probably never returning. He did, however, look at her. Which turned her red enough, but he spent most of his time on the rest of the crowd, or interacting with the others on stage. It let her enjoy it, instead of worrying. And it wasn’t the minute traces of alcohol that warmed her through to watch him.
He caught her eyes before leaving the stage, gesturing toward the hallway where the bathrooms had been. And she gathered her coat, clearing where she had sat and making her way there. He was waiting, leaning at the furthest point down the hallway. And watching her. It almost made her pause, before she kept moving. And he wasn’t even being subtle about it, looking her up and down.
He held open the door for her, hand on her lower back, leading her into the backstage area. And beside a tall stack of chairs, hidden, pinned her. Kissing the sweet fruit juice from her mouth, his hands at first ringing her waist before one rose to cup her head. And just that tiny bit of lift her heels gave her, made meeting him that much easier.
“I didn’t think you were going to show,” he said, tracing her ear.
“If I hadn’t have been able to come, I’d have called. And I really would’ve called.”
“I’m glad. So-“
His phone buzzed, and she realized he was going to ignore it.
“You should check that,” she said.
And though he frowned, he opened it. And she knew what the text of it read because she’d just managed to hit send on pre-written text.
“My name is Lee Eunhyuk, and I teach kindergarten. And yes, I would like to go out with you.”
He grinned, and kissed her.
And took her home with him.
***
Her body throbbed in the aftermath of pleasure, and she smiled, feeling him press himself against her back. An arm wrapped around her ribs, and up against her chest. And she could smell what they had done, murmuring as he nuzzled the side of her face. It was nice to know they still hadn’t lost anything. Nothing illicit about that sex at all, and he’d still had her clutching around him. All her worries gone, in a blissful post-orgasmic haze. And maybe a few clutching muscles from the enthusiastic sex, but she couldn’t possibly care.
“How long do you think people should date before deciding to get married?”
For some reason, maybe due to the fact that she’d immediately stopped breathing, he realized that he’d made her brain collapse into a series of sounds not replicable by human vocal cords.
“That’s kind of an awkward thing to bring up like this,” he said, acknowledging that he still had a hand cupping one of her breasts. “But honest question.”
She wasn’t even sure how she was supposed to respond, and pulled a number out of her head on a half laugh.
“I don’t know? Six months?”
“So five and a half months to go?” he murmured.
They’d known each other two weeks. Almost exactly.
“Is that a joke?” she asked, all laughter gone from her. At what point had she thought he wouldn’t want to go out with her, much less more?
“I guess we’ll see in six months?”
She wondered if she heard him right, mumbling something about her being what he was looking for. She was too distracted by the heat of his breath against the back of her neck. And maybe it had been his intention, or maybe it was just a byproduct. But she imagined her life in six months, and could imagine him there. And he was. He definitely was.
***
Author: Coley Merrin
Pairing: Tablo/Girl!Eunhyuk
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Smut~
My beta indicated this might ought to come with a "please do not try this at home" warning. XD Clearly fiction =/= real life~ Just a bit of fun. But it's important to keep betas happy. ;) (no manacles required, lol)
***
If you're not turned on before you go looking, then you're just going to be thinking with the wrong parts, aren't you? Heechul had offered. Then you're just thinking instead of feeling how much you need to get laid.
She had argued back that if her brain was engaged, then at least she wouldn't accidentally go home with someone she'd regret. And definitely not someone married. But Heechul had just laughed at her. But it was the plan. Get laid. One night. Because it had been too long since she'd gotten any, from anyone but herself anyway. Her little purse had just about every variety of condom invented, and a few extra sizes. Heechul apparently had a collection and shared to her blushing amusement.
"All within their expiration," Heechul assured her. "A few other friends and I have an exchange. Take a few extra. Just in case."
Though Heechul had a boyfriend and had been committed to him for ages. She wondered what he thought of her condom collection. But it didn't matter. The advice had been taken, sort of. Her feeling utterly conspicuous in the women's bathroom, standing toward the door and carefully positioned so as to look natural. Very careful not to touch anything in the stall whatsoever, and too tense at first to even get into the gentle rhythmic circles her fingers were molding into her panties. She imagined a man, his hands on her waist, imagined it was his hand touching her instead. Letting her head drop back as she felt the warmth rise, the subtle, empty ache as everything in her tightened, wanted. Her opposite hand rose, brushing lightly over the front of her shirt, feeling her breasts tighten with pleasure. Too much time, she thought. People could be waiting. It was just a tease. An appetizer, she hoped, for things to come. She almost laughed. Yes. Things to come. And he let the gentle throb propel her out the door to wash her hands, and back into the bar.
She tried not to bite off her freshly applied lipgloss, thankfully secure enough that she didn’t wobble in her heeled ankle boots. It was incredibly hard to feel sexy while wobbling. She thought there was probably a rule about that somewhere. She tried to walk casual, slow, but that was somewhat hard. Because even a little flushed and needy, she still had nerves. She didn’t pick up guys with the intention of getting them into her pants every day. Or any day, for that matter. And it had been a year and a half since she’d broken up with the last man she’d allowed knowledge of her pants at all. Heechul assured her she wasn’t a slut for wanting sex. Or to want to remember what sex was like, for that matter. Hopefully like riding a very sexy bicycle. And with a man she’d like to ride double with.
Her eyes scanned, as well. Men, different sorts and faces. She hissed, kind of wishing then that she’d finished what she started in the bathroom. But with the edge of need off, would she have been as hungry? It wasn’t like she was a one hit wonder. But she kind of wanted her first orgasm of the night to be because of someone else.
There were men that were part of couples, and she didn’t even focus on them. Poaching was far off limits. Little gaggles of men chatting, some of them drinking into a stupor. She didn’t think a drunk man was going to do much for her. In any of the ways she needed, anyway. In and out and him snoring wasn’t exactly part of her plans. And she could still hardly believe she had plans. She could call it off, but she really didn’t want to. If it turned into a fiasco, she’d learn and try something else. But there had to be a healthy, young, reasonably attractive man who didn’t seem like a drunk creep. If he wasn’t there, then she’d find him. Somewhere.
She smiled her thanks when her drink arrived, something very light in alcohol content. She leaned ever so casually back against the bar, and for a moment scanned, until her eyes focused on a small group of laughing men. There was a pitcher of beer, but they weren’t obnoxious as though they’d drank half the kegs in Seoul. A couple were older than she really preferred, but as she started to look away, one of the others swiveled. And for a second she almost thought he scanned her body. She focused on her drink, and when she glanced back up, was startled to actually meet his eyes. She drank hastily, half turning, cursing herself. Right, like getting freaked out because of meeting a guy’s eyes was conducive to getting laid. He’d looked kind of amused, probably from what his buddies were talking about. Strong cheekbones. Good looking. Intelligent eyes. She heard laughter, and glanced up only to see the man standing, grabbing his jacket. Leaving, then, she thought with some disappointment. Though none of the other men stood with him. And she caught sight of legs in dark jeans, and they weren’t moving toward the door. She swallowed hard, hoping her fluster wasn’t obvious. He was coming towards her.
Her chance, she realized. Maybe. If he actually stopped next to her. And she couldn’t blow it. Another part of her brain chuckled that she could blow it if he wanted her to.
He leaned against the bar beside her, and shot her a smile. And she realized he was even better looking than he had been across the room. All of Heechul’s advice seemed to be working. Maybe she did look ripe for picking. He leaned in and she got a whiff of some kind of aftershave or cologne.
“I hope you won’t crush me and tell me you’re waiting for someone.”
“No, I’m not waiting for someone,” she answered.
“I could say something corny to that, but how about I introduce myself and offer to buy you a drink?”
She laughed. “Orange juice, then.”
“Orange juice. I’m Tablo.”
She smiled. “Eunhyuk.”
***
She was glad she switched away from alcohol. It gave her patience not to want to dispense with the small talk and just project that she was horny, and please tell her where he lived so she could start stripping. But somehow an hour went by with her laughing at his quips about his job, and getting a very familiar, possessive hand on her hip. Lest any other man think she was available. Her toes curled in anticipation. That was a very promising sign.
She leaned in close to talk to him, and after a few minutes of indecision, rested her hand on his arm. Maybe rubbing herself up against him would’ve been more obvious, but he wasn’t stupid. And she did a mental cheer every time she caught him ogling her cleavage.
“I think I’m ready to go,” she told him, hoping there was an offer implicit in that. To go and do.
“Me too,” he said, and waved at his hooting friends as they passed. He helped her into her belted jacket, shrugging on his own as they stepped out into the lightly chilly air.
“Not to be creepy or anything, but I’d like to see you home safely,” he told her as they walked together to the subway.
When she stopped, he stopped with her, and it was so simple to step forward, close enough that she could touch his face. She would’ve kissed him, too, the second she got her nerve back from meeting his eyes, but he beat her to it. And it shivered through her, the slight chill of his lips not at all masking the intent. She tasted his lips, and his arm tightened around her. The bitter edge of beer, and something else. And she gave him every opportunity to taste her, too. Thrilled when he not only did, but tipped into her. Taking her balance from her for a moment in his haste to claim her mouth. She was breathing hard, arousal simmering back through her as he petted her hair.
“Wow,” he said simply.
She swallowed all her pride, and went straight for the truth. “I think I’d rather see you home, if that’s okay.”
Not that anything she was doing was particularly safe. But if she went to his place, he wouldn’t know where she lived. That was supposing he lived alone. And it also meant she didn’t have to kick him out of her apartment, instead able to leave on her own terms. He didn’t seem like some kind of axe murderer. The odds were, and she had genuinely started to like him, that he was going to think her pretty promiscuous. Did girlfriend material girls go out and get laid by strangers? She didn’t think so. But she hadn’t exactly been looking for a boyfriend.
“I don’t think anyone’s offered to see me home before. I don’t think I could refuse.”
The humor had his lips quirking and that lit warmth in her, too.
“After you,” she teased.
He kept her hand once they got to the subway platform. And the little flicks of his thumb against her wrist had begun to drive her insane by the time he drew her to her feet. Not all that many stops from her own. On the elevator ride up his building, his hand rested on her shoulder, and she shivered. But not when he began to tease the skin of her neck. It had heat puddling through her, and she leaned into the touch. He knew. Oh, he knew.
“It’s not exactly clean,” he said, trying for excuses as he let her in. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s okay, I don’t care,” she assured him.
As long as he had a bed, she really didn’t care. Or a futon. An air mattress. A heap of blankets on the floor. She’d even settle on a couch if she had to.
“Did you want something to drink?”
Another maneuver on his part. Making sure she wasn’t just here for a quick make out, or to get his number, or whatever. But she didn’t think many women went home with guys just to get a spot in his cell phone. She let her coat hang over the back of a chair, and leaned into his chest.
“Thanks. I’m not thirsty.”
His grin seemed to say he’d been hoping that was the answer. His hands on her sides. Just as she’d imagined earlier. But no faceless man. The kiss blasted through her, soft, and dirty at the same time. An answer, and a question. His hands cupping her butt before holding her waist again.
“Did you go to the bar tonight hoping for this?” he asked, pulling her flush against him.
“Yes,” and it was said on a trembling exhale as his lips met her neck. “Oh. Tablo.”
He hissed, and hiked her up, her surprised shriek muffled on his shoulder as he carried her with him. He let her down in his bedroom, the floor chilly through her socks, and he kept her close. Scenting, kissing up the length of her neck.
“Fuck, I want you. So pretty standing at that bar in your little jeans.”
“Please.”
Her shirt went without fuss, a quick tug over her head. Leaving her in the black demi bra with the lace band and red piping that she loved so much. It helped give her a little more cleavage than she naturally possessed, but he didn’t seem to be complaining.
“You call the shots,” he said, thumbs rubbing at the edges of her bra. “You tell me what you want.”
She let her teeth let go of her bottom lip. “You.”
He finished undoing his own shirt, tossing it aside and sliding his bare arm against the skin of her back.
“Right answer.”
Her right answer came with him taking back his hands, urging her with his eyes to undo her jeans. She wasn’t sure how to be sexy, but to take it slow. Having to wiggle her hips to get the jeans started. Using her toes on the hem to hold them, so she could step out, using his arm as a prop. And when his shirt fell, she inhaled. Not a body that was in the gym hours a day, not very many visible muscles. But he was healthy and fit. And male. And she’d already decided his face was appealing, which was half the battle. So her list of hopes was more or less complete. Or it would be, at least, once they’d finished with each other. It was a good sign, she thought, grinning at him, that she wanted him even more than she had at the bar.
The hand up her back made her shiver, and the kiss, need. Looping her arms around his neck, she pressed closer, almost taking another step against him as his hand cupped between her thighs. Not even the material of her panties kept her from feeling that, and she was glad, because it felt good and she knew it would only feel better. His laugh was soft, sensual against her ear.
"You're soaking wet."
Well. She could have told him that herself.
“Lights on? Off?” he asked.
“Off,” she said immediately. “If the bathroom light is on?”
There would be enough light to see. But not enough light to make things even harsher than they already were.
“Done,” he said, kissing her, and doing as she requested. Flipping back the covers of his bed and urging her back onto it. He struggled only for a moment with the clasp of her bra, and she lay back for him, inviting him.
The sight of his body lingered in her mind, and she shivered as their skin whispered together. He was warm, and that warmth enveloped her, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. There wasn’t time to analyze, moaning into his kiss as he stroked down her side, her thigh. Her hands over his back brought a satisfied sigh.
But it was the wet of his mouth on her neck that had her arching. Had she forgotten what she wanted? He pushed up, eyes roaming from her chest to her eyes, and her skin prickled.
"You could’ve gone home with any guy there. Was I the guy you wanted there, or the one you settled for? Ah, I guess it doesn't matter," he said, smirking. "You're with me now."
The swallow was hard, her mouth so dry, but she managed. “No. You’re the one.”
And it was true. He covered her breasts with his hands, and her skin burned, the sensitive tips of her nipples scraped by the texture of his palms. The echoes were sweet, deep inside, and needy. The same as with her neck, he kissed over swell and valley. Nibbling them to tight peaks that ached as he left them behind. Exhaling against her belly, and moving lower. Going to remove the last barrier of her underwear, she figured, and was wrong. Her thighs tightening as he nosed against her, inhaling audibly against her panties. His nose pressure that she would’ve begged him to move anywhere. Anywhere that ached and needed.
His fingers eased under the waistband, and she lifted her hips for him, bending her knees to help him slide the scrap of lace and cotton over her legs. He kissed her knee while he was there, glancing up to meet her eyes.
“It’s been almost a year since I’ve had sex,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. “So you’ll have to forgive that I’m a little hungry.”
Hungry for sex, was her first thought. And her hand was ready to reach for the condoms. Hungry for something else, was her second. And she might have let out a pray on a swallowed whimper as his arms circled her thighs. Nudging at her to open for him.
She had thought it would perhaps be his fingers sliding inside her, the phantom feel of them pressing through her panties still lingering. Obviously, she expected to hand him a condom and feel him on top of her. But she never expected his tongue, odd at first and slick, tasting, sliding into her. Her gasped plea got no response. She’d never had a man do that. To go down on her, yes, but in the way that was quickest for him. Not the way Tablo was doing, exploring every crevice and fold, his fingers teasing her skin. The plunge of his tongue just made her crave more, fingers tangling in the sheet to keep from reaching and bringing herself some release. She all but quivered with need as he sated himself. And nearly lost herself, as his hand moved, making way for his mouth. Her neglected clit, tension so ripe inside her that his tongue cupping at it had her ready to climb. And he seemed to know that, starting so gently. But it didn’t matter, the steady light friction, body tense and breath stopped, and hips urging against his mouth as he took her over the edge. It sang through her, and the relief of it was like a drug. Hands curling into tight fists of satisfaction.
But he didn’t stop. Tactics changed. She garbled her words, two of his fingers slipping into her, hooking, stroking as his mouth continued. Gentle suction, his tongue, his mouth. Not building to a lightning climax as the last had been, but it was on her before she could breathe, convulsing against him as the orgasm rolled, and again, again, the shudders of her body too many to count as she panted.
“Condom?” he asked, and her brain on autopilot patted for the ones she’d brought. He laughed, and she watched as he opened on, rolling it onto his erection. Still hard for her. And she didn’t think it mattered how many orgasms she had, the aftershocks had her aching, empty, ready for him. And with her knees hooked over his elbows, it took only a thrust to get inside her, filling her. Wet enough for three of him, she mused, the sound of their bodies together. He kissed her breasts, her neck, rubbing his mouth along her skin. And she could smell herself on him. The rocking of his body, and the welcome of hers.
“You’re gorgeous,” he told her, teasing her face, her ears, with his kisses. The jangle of her earrings and the harsh puffs of his breath sending shocks through her. He let down her legs, hooking them around his waist, and the angle changed, just so. The movement of his pubic bone with hers, every thrust stimulation she had thought she couldn’t endure, and was instead reaching for. Hips meeting his, begging him as they worked together. She cried out into his neck as she came, the pleasure washing through her, eyes prickling with tears from the release of it. And he kissed her, devoured her, body almost mindless of him and her, until he tensed for her. Came for her. Thrusts and shudders and tension as her legs slid bonelessly from around him. She’d gone out looking for sex, and had gotten destroyed by it.
He still panted into the crux of her neck and shoulder, and she raised a tentative hand, petting his hair, his neck. Her whole body throbbed, undone by too much of everything. Too many orgasms, too much man. He pulled her with him, and she went, feeling all of her muscles protest, all the muscles he’d worked inside her, all the lingering, pleasurable aches there. The smell of his sweat as he cradled her head on his shoulder, the sheen of sweat on his sternum against her hand. His fingers curving over her waist. And she let it pull her into the hazy sleep of the safe and satisfied.
***
Sleeping naked was weird. That wasn’t her first thought. Her first thought ran more along the lines of realizing there was light around her that was natural and not from a lightbulb. And there was an arm over her side. And that meant she was still in bed with a man she’d known not even half a day.
With whom she’d had fabulous sex.
Oh, and also her cell phone was ringing. She gasped, scrambling out of bed to find her purse that had fallen during the night and answering just before it went to voicemail.
And crap, she was naked. She knelt, huddled over on herself and trying to trace where all of her clothes had fallen. She didn’t even see her bra. And her panties? They were still buried in his bed for all she knew.
“Heechul, I can’t talk right now,” she whispered.
“How did it go? You’re still alive and okay, right?”
“Yes, just-”
Something soft fell over her shoulders, and she looked up, surprised. And realized Tablo had gotten out of bed and had just covered her awkward kneeling self with some kind of robe. And she got an eyeful of everything else, turning red as a tomato as she clutched the phone and got her arms through the material, wrapping it solidly around her.
“So I should…”
A finger waggled under her nose, forcing her to look up his thankfully now pajama pants-clad body.
“Tea or coffee?” he asked softly.
She blinked. “Tea?”
“What?” Heechul complained, wanting to know what was going on.
“I’m fine. I have to go.” She hung up in time to see Tablo disappear out the bedroom door. She pushed up stiffly onto her feet, scuttling into the bathroom and locking the door. There was the obligatory inspection in the mirror. A mark on her shoulder, from his mouth. Her hair, looking like some kind of bird’s nest. And she looked all kinds of satisfied. A longing look was sent at the shower, but she really didn’t dare. Getting out of his apartment with wet hair as well as rumpled clothes wasn’t optimal. She settled for washing up, using her finger on her teeth and smoothing her hair down. His robe was too big for her, but she belted it tightly, prepared to brave whatever she had to in order to find her clothes. What she found was a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, and him nowhere to be found. All clothes in hand, she retreated back into the bathroom, unearthing her panties from the farthest corners of his sheets. And relatively put together and guarded, she picked up the tea, tentatively emerging into the living room she barely remembering being kissed in and carried through. He smiled up at her, a pair of glasses on his nose from where he’d been sitting, fully clothed in front of a laptop.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she answered, wondering where her “sneak out in the middle of the night and avoid awkwardness” plans had gone so wrong. Oh yeah. Probably in the middle of the great sex.
“I hope you slept okay,” he said, setting the glasses aside and making for the door, which was exactly where she’d been eyeing over the steaming cup.
“I did, thank you,” she said, putting the cup down with a bit of a clatter on his kitchen table. He was holding her jacket, she thought with relief. He knew, then. And he helped her into it, tugging her hair out of the collar for her.
And picking up his own jacket? She stared, her fingers poised where she’d been slipping a button through it’s hole.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, seeming to pause before reaching out, a bit of hope in his face. She forgot what breathing was, and he caught her hand. “Have breakfast with me?”
Oh. She hadn’t been looking for something like that. She’d been sure of that. But her fingers slid between his with such ease, that the answer she gave left her with no doubt that she’d found what she’d been wanting after all.
***
Breakfast had seemed more like a blind date than anything the night before had. Just knowing she begged off to the bathroom to do damage control not just to get herself home, but to make herself presentable enough to sit across from him for an actual meal. She should've figured out then that it was probably the wrong choice, but when the alternative had be bowling him over to get out of his door? And she had been hungry. There was that. Still, she played with her hair, wondering it was all right.
And it had been pleasant, as pleasant as a meal with two almost-strangers had any right being. And she didn’t picture him naked but the one time, and the resulting flush had kept her on the straight and narrow after that. Her appetite was a little iffy, given their acrobatics of the night before. But she was running on nerves, coffee, and a good deal of fruit and bread by the time they stood to pay.
“I know you don’t know much about me, but I’d like to see you again,” he said as they walked. “We could plan to meet again. The same night, where we met. I’ll be there a few hours so you could just come by when you were able.”
Inviting her on what was essentially a date. A real one. She didn’t trust herself to make the right choice. If she said no, she lost her chance. If she said yes, there was still a possibility that she could back out.
“Sure,” she said, smiling. She wasn’t sure why the idea of him asking warmed her so much. She’d thought she could, or at least wondered if she could, have a one night stand without an emotional backlash. And he was in essence giving her an out in another meeting. Because sleeping together, eating, and meeting again, wasn’t a one night stand. Though it did mean she might end up with two one night stands. But if he was into that, he could just find another girl. And he’d asked her.
He saw her as far as the subway entrance, kissing her briefly, discreetly. And telling her again that he’d see her next week. She listening to her footfalls as she went underground, and thought that he probably would.
***
It took three days of telling herself maybe. And then absolutely not. And then maybe again. She zoned out at the grocery store imagining his mouth on her neck. And ignored it. She forgot her ATM pin momentarily because of seeing his hands on her thighs. At night, she read and didn’t let her mind wander. Because she was ever so desperately trying to talk herself out of making her one night stand into something bigger. She could deal without sex. She didn’t need a man.
She could do what she needed, herself. Laying in bed at night, and cupping herself between her thighs. Not even bothering to move her clothes. She had fantasies enough for those nights, letting her legs widen and breath tremble out. Boyfriends, celebrities. She’d had to stop herself in the middle when she couldn’t get Tablo out of her head. Just rolling over and sticking one of her pillows between her legs instead. Fantasizing about having sex with him wasn’t the best way to stop herself from going to meet him. But the next night, it became impossible to stop. Touching her breasts in the shower and imagining they were his hands. Neck arching for imaginary kisses. Imagining him behind her as she brushed her teeth. And as her head rocked back into her pillow, the tiny sounds she made urged him as she imagined him above her. Fingers blurring at the peak as she imagined him making her come, gasping, flushed, and throbbing. Empty.
She rolled onto her side and curled into herself, the lingering, euphoric ache following her. Imagining him behind her.
And it repeated the next night. Bending over for him.
Showering with him.
His fingers inside her as they watched television.
The more racy it was, the more she told herself it was a bad idea. Even when she imagined the cuddling. And the day before she was supposed to meet him, she came twice. It wasn’t like she was possessed, he was just inspiring. And she’d been without for a long time.
She had a lot of excuses. But none that explained away the fact that she wanted him. Her mind and body were making no surprises about that.
***
She nearly turned away when she reached the outside of the bar, holding her ID and wondering what she was doing. It wasn't like he was going to magically divine who she was, or where she lived. The likelihood of her seeing someone she knew was slim, and even then they wouldn't know why she was there. Unless she got run over by a car while naked, but that was kind of stupid to contemplate. She blew out a breath, and decided that if he wasn't there, she'd get a drink and then leave. Fate telling her it wasn't supposed to be. She could find a man to date for real, and worry about the sex later.
But she spotted him almost immediately, facing the door as he was. And the speed with which he looked up and recognized her? It could only have meant he'd been waiting for her.
"Hey. You want something to drink?" he asked her as soon as she'd reached his table.
"Juice? Cranberry juice. Please."
He nodded, and offered that she should sit while he fetched it for her. She glanced around, looking to see if anyone was there that she recognized. But no one was staring at her, wondering why she was there. Just a woman dressed fairly modestly, sitting at a table and waiting for a glass of juice. That was all. And maybe, a post-juice round of sex.
She wasn't nearly as nervous. Which kind of made sense to her, and kind of didn't. For one, she didn't have to worry about where the sex was coming from. If he smelled bad, looked bad, didn't measure up. If he didn't listen, or didn't care what she wanted. All those things were possible with a man who she might have dated for weeks. And there was the possibility that since he had gotten what he'd wanted last time, since she'd come back for more, that he wouldn't care as much about pleasing her. But she'd not sensed any kind of roughness in him. Her friends knew where she was. She wasn't stupid. Maybe a little stupid. But it was different, she reasoned. He wasn't a total stranger. It wasn't quite as anonymous. The thing was, she didn't really get thrills from doing dangerous things. Not some kind of adrenaline junkie. And the fact that she wanted him still spoke to the fact that he'd been a good lover and not because she was somehow turned on by the illicitness of it all.
“How has your week been?” he asked, setting her drink down and taking his own seat.
“Fine,” she said, wary of disclosing many details. “The week didn’t seem as long as last week.”
He laughed, twisting his beer bottle. “Yes. Though it was nice to have something to look forward to at the end of it.”
There was that strange expression he got sometimes, that smug, I-know-better smirk that went with the laughing eyes. And she had no idea why she found that appealing.
But it was also nice to sit and drink, and listen to whatever music was being piped through the room. He talked about crazy things his friends had gotten up to, getting themselves home when they’d had too much to drink.
“Not that it happens much any more. We all have jobs, and hangovers aren’t nearly as fun as they were five or ten years go.”
“I’ve never actually had a hangover,” she said, laughing at his slight surprise. “Sometimes I drink, but it’s only a very little bit. I don’t think I’ve actually even ever been very tipsy.”
“You don’t need to drink to be attractive. And I don’t need to drink to find you attractive.”
Though she kind of felt drunk when she laughed, trying to hide behind her forearm as he thought about what he’d just admitted to.
“Thank you,” she said, still trying to compose herself. “That was really sweet.”
Maybe he wasn’t trying to be sweet, or maybe he was just trying to be sexy. It worked either way. One of the few men she’d had in her acquaintance who didn’t find it particularly needful to be lewd, and was just that much sexier for it. Even when she knew he had to be wondering if she was going home with him, if they were having another date. If, if, if.
No more questions, when they boarded the subway together. His breath soft against her face as they rode up the elevator in his building. Kissing her almost before her shoes were off, his arm sturdy around her.
“You need anything?” he asked, and seemed to be actually listening for all his mouth was playing with her ear.
She shook her head, too undone to speak. Let him guide her, strip her. Clothes shed without much finesse, and probably not much grace. Dark enough in the room that she shuddered into him without feeling exposed. It was her pushing him onto the bed. Crawling after, and feeling him catch her, draw her close for a kiss. Or three. And to touch her. But when he went for her neck, she stopped him. Kissing a line down his sternum, and thinking of how he had pleased her.
She moved very carefully, tracing his stomach with her fingers and lowering herself just enough. To where his erection slid against her breasts, her chest. And she knew he knew it, too. Her smile was cleverly hidden against his skin, until she reached her goal. Barely touching, skimming the length of him with her cheek. Hearing his hiss at the contact. He'd made her feel like some kind of goddess. It was her turn to give back.
And he wasn’t anything like the man she had dated before her last boyfriend. The one who had believed that it was his unalienable right as her boyfriend to be blown whenever he felt the need. Which was often. And it wasn’t like she hated the thought, but being told you should want to do it, because your my girlfriend in order to be coerced into it, had become quite a turn-off. And, she thought, a little meanly, that man hadn’t been endowed nearly as nicely as Tablo was.
Her fingers ran down his length, letting her moistened lips drag against the tip of him. Hard, and ready. She wondered what it would be like to start when he was barely aroused, to feel him grow for her. And the prospect of it made her shudder. Apparently she’d found another thing that turned her on. But the thought of it, told her she didn’t want what they were doing to stop with that night. If he came because of her mouth and hands, or if they had sex, she was keyed up enough sexually to want to make sure she had access to this, him. And all the warnings she’d heard, about being careful, about it being so hard to be able to separate emotion from sex, played through her. He’d shattered through her reserves on this same bed, and she wanted him. Her body did. Her mind did. For the man who tucked casual fingers at her waist in the subway, and who moaned quiet curses as she touched him. Who moaned again as she checked the condom, and with knees carefully arranged, lowed, ready, onto him.
"Where have you been all my life?"
And the words, his voice so rough, offhand and casual, thrilled her.
She was tense above him, hardly daring to open her eyes. Not moving, not knowing if she wanted to move. He was as deep in her as he could possibly be, and her body seemed torn between gripping him or not, some kind of endless ripple that made her want to grind against him in the lewdest way. But when she actually did open her eyes, and saw the loopy look on his face, she realized he wasn't going to care either way.
The way he looked at her when she shifted, and began to experiment with movement was unlike she'd ever seen. Like she was gold and beer and kimchi in one her-sized package.
He let the backs of his fingers trace down into her cleavage, and she swallowed hard, feeling him move, both hands sliding up under her bra to cup her breasts. Pleasing himself with her, she thought.
"Perfect," he muttered, fiddling with the clasp and pushing the straps off her shoulders. Then he wanted to see. The cool air of the room against her skin only added to the feeling of exposure. "I want to see you."
He touched her shoulders, her hair, cupping her face and leaning forward far enough to capture her mouth. The resulting twitch of her hips had them both moaning, and he kissed her again, settling back to let her do what she needed to do.
She had a hard time staying still, her eyes meeting his and down, the sliding of him inside her and knowing she was controlling it. Only her. Even in the dark she felt exposed, her movements for him alone to see. It didn’t make her care less, and her arms moved restlessly to help her hips to sway or plunge, and keep them from trying to cover herself, even it it was to reach up and play with the ends of her hair. But there was a thrill to it. A heat building between them, inside her, aching for more, faster.
"I'm not going to last very long," he said, searching her face. "Can you?"
She nearly laughed, shaking her head. She had barely begun to try, and her body was near to breaking.
"Give me your hands."
It made her pause, that offer, putting out one hand and shivering when he meshed their fingers.
"Let me help you," he said, humor winking in his eyes. Help her to move him to orgasm, and help her to move to her own.
He took her other hand, steadying her. And what should have made her stronger, for a moment made her weak. Just seeing their fingers joined. She'd wanted to give back to him after a fantastic night, after he seemed to want to see more of her. Of her. And maybe taking her hands was just a sign he wanted her to get moving, that he was ready to be done, but it seemed like a lot more. She felt free in some way to be with him in a way she'd never even dared with her boyfriends before. And it was when he squeezed her fingers between his that she realized that it wasn't all just because they were nearly strangers. Or that she was putting her trust in a man that maybe she had no right to trust. But then again, he had yet to show her otherwise.
Everything built in her. The sound of his pants, the sound of their bodies together. His chest moving, his face.
He was watching her, and his hips were moving with hers. Not taking her control, but adding to it. And she remembered him kissing her stomach, making her shake with need, and cry out for him, and she shuddered around him, the pleasure waking over her as she moved into him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his eyes on her but glazed. Too close himself, but knowing she’d came for him. For herself. She wanted to kiss him, and couldn’t, and that need drove her faster, urging him to his own end until he moaned for her. And for the first time, had a man coming for her, beneath her. She panting, needy, no longer for sexual relief, but for touch. Untangling one of her hands from his and reaching for him. A panting kiss against her mouth, the heat of his chest against hers.
His hand stroked over her hair, her back, and she felt like the world’s most satisfied cat as he breathed against the side of her face. Hearts thumping in tune as they slowed, and he stroked her side, moving just far enough to where she could lay beside him, against him. The blanket warm, and his presence comforting. His arm, not a binding, but a comfort. Was that going to be the last time with him, she wondered. But how could it?
***
She had at least thought to bring her phone closer before falling into bed, so when her phone started buzzing, all she had to do was roll over and grab it. Heechul, she thought, holding the sheet to her chest even if she was still laying down.
"Hey, yes I'm good," she said, hoping her voice or the phone hadn't been enough to wake Tablo.
"You mean you stayed over all night again?" Heechul asked. "I need details on this guy. Get a picture! Why are you so lazy."
She laughed softly, promising she'd try, and hung up. She could see her clothes, but she could also feel Tablo moving behind her.
"Good morning," he murmured, tugging her back until she could rest her head over his arm. He kissed her, and her cheek, her neck. Settling back to consider her.
"Your friend?" he asked. "Checking to see you're okay?"
"Yeah," she said, feeling a little embarrassed by it. As though she didn't trust him or something? But surely he'd understand the sentiment. "She's just… We look out for each other. Not that I do this- Except. Yeah."
He seemed to be trying not to smile. "It's good you have someone to worry."
He was sort of tangling his fingers in her hair, and she was trying to inch the sheet just that much closer as though he could see anything at all. She wasn't sure why but the morning was different. It just was.
"And I'm glad you trusted me enough to come back," he continued. "What- What do you think she'd think of me if she met me?"
She'd been sort of pondering his chin, so when those words crept through her understanding her eyes went wide, staring at him.
"I haven't told her anything bad about you," she said, the words coming to her awkwardly. "So I don't think she would think anything bad?"
"Ah, so not that I'm some creep who just hangs around taking women home with me."
She went back to staring at his chin. "I was the one who asked to go with you."
"But we were both glad you did? So now we're even."
"And just so you know, there weren't any women in between. You made quite an impression."
She all but lunged for him, the naked-angle sort of being outweighed by the fact that her face was combusting and if she didn't press her mouth some part of his shoulder, she'd start babbling like a complete fool. After a minute of resting together, he mumbled that he would make them tea if she wanted to shower. And when she agreed, he left her there in her little sheet cocoon and her privacy.
***
"You like cereal?" he asked, kind of half gesturing her to a seat at the small table and sliding a cup of steaming tea toward her.
"Who doesn't like cereal?" she wondered, and warmed her hands on the cup. She'd been smart enough at least to pack essentials. A toothbrush, some goop to control her hair, and deodorant. She even had brought a clean pair of panties, so she was ready for almost anything. Even making a cereal choice.
He had some good choices, at least. Nothing too weird or sweet, just normal. She chose a bran one she knew she liked, and went about eating it. What else was there to do? And it wasn't like he inhaled his, but he was still done way before she was, holding his coffee mug and at least not actually watching her eat.
"Are you busy this morning?" he asked.
That was a loaded question. If she said no, then he invited her to do something she'd really rather not, how did she get out of it? Making up an excuse after the fact was kind of lame. But she went with the truth anyway.
"No, I'm not busy."
"If this doesn't sound like something you'd want to do, just tell me another time, okay? But there's this museum, photography museum, that I've been meaning to get to. I do articles for a magazine, so I want to do a review on it. So it's not just that I need to work, but it'd be great to have you along, and spend some time with you. Get your opinion on it, too."
Of all the things he could've suggested, that was pretty non-offensive. She couldn't imagine running into anyone she knew there, for one thing. And the idea of going to a museum with him was appealing. She liked photography. He was fun to be with. It couldn't hurt.
"Yeah, that sounds like fun," she said, and he grinned in a way that made her know that was the answer he'd been wanting. And even without her jacket on, she was dressed to be seen in daylight, too. It wasn't like they were going back to the bar.
And when he had said it was fairly close, he meant it. Because they walked the several blocks to the building holding several galleries and museums. He didn't try to hold her hand, or touch her as she walked, except for once, guiding her around a dog being walked that was in her way.
"I'd say the owner needed a leash on him, but he already had one," Tablo joked.
"Maybe the owner was the one needing the leash."
He laughed at her joke, and opened the door to the inside for her. Even though she started for her purse, he waved her back, buying both of them admission. And she had that buzz again, as breakfast had been the week before. The date-like offering.
The opening of the museum was bright, leading to a side room with different photography-capturing mediums on display. A very old camera. A film camera. Digital. And representations of the types of media possible with each. Self developed. Digitally worked. It was fascinating to see the subject change as they circled the room.
"This would be a really neat place to bring a class," she mused.
"Yeah, I'd have loved coming to a place like this when I was in school," he said. "You work with kids?"
"Oh, this has audio," she said a little too loudly, pushing the button that gave them a short walkthrough of the film development process. And she was wincing inside. Telling him wasn't like offering her bank account and access to her blog. If he was that bad of a guy, why was she even with him? She could just leave and go find some banker or something, like her mom kept suggesting to her. But she followed and led, and whiled the morning away with him.
***
Somehow leaving the museum had turned into lunch, and lunch into a movie. It wasn't just a date, but a string of dates. And she had never had that kind of all-day, spending time with a guy before. With her friends, yeah, but it was different. Having to make him not put his feet up on the back of the theater seats in mortification, and having him thank the lady who brought them their meal. Her stimulation level had kind of hit a peak, when he turned to her on their way to the subway.
"I should let you go, because you probably have other things to do this weekend. But I promise, if I could just borrow 30 more minutes of your time. I want to show you this place. You know how I mentioned I liked music? Some of my friends and I get together and perform every week or two, so I'd just like to show it to you. And it's right near the next stop."
She agreed, not because she was burning with desire, though with curiosity, yes. But it was kind of hard to say no, given the way he'd asked her.
The music spilled out as they opened the door, and she saw what he meant, by the low stage. Intimate with the audience, almost part of it. She declined a drink, and he kind of gestured.
"So yeah. This is it."
"You sing? Play an instrument?"
"I rap," he said, and didn't seem to be bothered what she might think of it. "I write my own stuff, and so do my friends. It's a good outlet. Helps me get out some of the things I'm thinking, if you know what I mean."
She had a few songs in her music player that had raps in them. Maybe she hadn't sought out the genre, but it oddly seemed to fit him. That calm sort of confidence, and carefully chosen words. She wondered if he was any good. When the door opened behind them, she moved out of the way on instinct. And wondered at his face.
"Hey, Tablo! Look who's here."
His friends? He shot her an apologetic look.
"Sorry, I had no idea. Hey, guys."
"He doesn't want to hang out with us any more. Now we can see why."
"One night?"
"Come sit with us a second, guys."
He looked to her for her approval, and she didn't see how to say no. Again.
"Tablo has all the luck with the ladies. I'm Mithra."
“Hey, back off, I saw her first,” Tablo said mildly, sliding up onto the stool next to hers.
"It's nice to meet you," she told them, and got greetings all around.
“So what do you do?” Mithra asked her, very conversationally after a few minutes. So much so in fact that she realized that she had no good answer. Her eyes swung to Tablo’s, because she hadn’t even told him yet, and now his friends were asking her?
There was a moment of silence, and Tablo broke in. “Leave her alone, guys. I didn’t bring her for an interrogation.”
“Hey, if she’s some kind of princess, we need to know! She could be way too good for you.”
“She is way too good for him even if she isn’t a princess.”
Tablo just rolled his eyes at them, and bumped into her shoulder in support.
"What did he tell you to get you to go out with him, anyway? It must've been all lies. You could've had your pick of any of us."
Her brain, dozed on soda and food, Tablo's hand stroking her wrist, sort of perked back to life. Had her pick? She flashed back to that night in the bar, looking at the table Tablo had been sitting at. And realized at least one of the guys did look familiar. Not just Tablo's singing, rapping, whatever, friends. But the ones he'd been drinking with. That knew she had had left with him.
"I'm sorry, excuse me a moment," she mumbled, her face flushing too hot to touch.
She slipped down quickly, trying not to run or even walk too fast. Not be too obvious.
But apparently she was, because she'd barely entered the cooler, quieter corridor, when Tablo was at her elbow.
She tried to gather her brain and settled on one thing. “They were the ones at the bar with you that night?”
“Yeah. You didn’t recognize them?”
“I wasn’t looking at them a week ago,” she said, sounding exasperated when it was actually death by embarrassment. “They know I went home with you? That we-”
“No!” He was laughing at her, but serious about it as well. “No, I didn’t tell them that. All they know is I walked you to the subway. I knew we were, well. I hoped we were going to see each other this week, too.”
“I thought guys were always bragging about their scores.”
“Not if we don’t know what’s next. If it was a one-time thing, maybe? But I’ve never had a girl sleep over like that, have breakfast. Want to see her again so much. I didn’t know they were coming, but I’m not sad you met these guys, so you know I’m not an axe murderer. You don’t even trust me enough to tell me what you do for a living. Maybe you’re an axe murderer for all I know.”
“No. I’m not. You swear they don’t…?”
“All they know is that you’re the girl I met, who I was really hoping to see again.”
Her lips were trembling even as her mind raced, and she fumbled out her phone. Dialing Heechul, and putting her on speaker.
“Hey, I need you to convince someone I’m not an axe murderer,” she said, listening to Heechul laugh on the other end.
“She’s not an axe murder. Except on the weekends!”
“What?” she laughed. “And what’s my job?”
“School teacher?”
“Thanks, I’ll call you later,” she said, and all but hung up on Heechul.
Tablo, whose eyes hadn’t ever left her face, was still steady, staring. “You’re a school teacher.”
“Who goes home with guys she meets in bars. Yeah.”
“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think that’s really cool. I love kids. I have a nephew. This weekend was probably supposed to be us deciding whether or not we wanted anything else to do with each other. I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”
“Me too,” she admitted.
“Then let’s get out of here.”
She stood, smiling politely as he said goodbye to his friends. Making plans to meet them or call them. And they joked that she should come back with Tablo, and possibly ditch him for one of them. Mostly in jest. A sizing up of her as she was sizing them up. As though Tablo would want to bring her back. But if he didn't want to, then why would he have brought her?
"They mean well," he told her, keeping her close as they walked out onto the sidewalk. "They're mostly harmless, but great guys, and talented."
"You really enjoy performing."
"I do. It was harder at first, but now it's relief. You should come listen sometime."
“I think I’d like that.”
He tucked a business card in her palm, when they’d gone down into the subway. “This is my number. I’ll be performing here next weekend. But feel free to call, or just show up. Either is fine. Just don’t think I’m an axe-murderer, okay?”
He kissed her, and left her standing there. And she clutched the card.
***
“Is it too much?” she wondered out loud. The dress wasn’t skeezy by any realm of the imagination. It covered her from shoulder to knee, floating out in a skirt that she hadn’t been able to leave the store without owning. And the heels weren’t sky high, but cute and, well..cute. She could see her walking into any restaurant with it on, or on any kind of date. But was it too much for a date, when the guy involved didn’t know she was showing up, and she was going to a bar she’d only been in once when it was mostly empty? Who knew what the women wore there. Jeans, maybe. He said he rapped. What was the dress code for rapping? She squished her toes tighter in the heels, and thought they really were super cute. And her legs looked good.
And she wasn’t really dressing for the bar, anyway. The men and women in it weren’t really her concern, though she didn’t want to stick out like wearing red when the dress code called for white. But, she figured she could keep her knee length coat on if she was really, utterly out of place. And she’d spent enough time agonizing over the fact that she’d showered, perfumed, made up, and otherwise wasted an hour of her life making sure she was absolutely perfect for a guy who didn’t even know she was coming. And he was going to be happy to see her. She’d convinced herself of that between showering and dealing with her hair.
The bar was not full, when she walked in. It meant she could get a drink, and actually find a small table near the wall, but also near to the stage. She got something as watered down with juice as was possible, just enough alcohol to calm her nerves. He would be happy to see her, she really didn’t have a lot of doubt. It had been a week, and not a decade. And at worst she could slink home, and spend the rest of it eating in bed in embarrassment and horror.
People were setting up for the gig, and she recognized a couple of his friends. One of which spotted her, though she waved frantically to keep him from acknowledging her. She didn’t want them to alert Tablo before the show and have it be some kind of big to-do. She just wanted to hear him, and if she could still hear after the show, have a conversation with him. And maybe a little more than that.
She thought she’d escaped it, that she could enjoy the performance largely unnoticed. Her breath caught, though, when Tablo appeared. Doing a last check of his mic and looking back at one of the other men. There were a few moments of quiet whispers, and she actually had a moment of dread. Because she knew what that conversation was, even before Tablo turned his head. Because he looked almost right at her, and she gripped the edge of her seat with one hand, sort of awkwardly nodding at him. She would’ve waved if she could’ve lifted a hand, but settled for a smile. Her presence said a lot, but suddenly he was gripping his mic with both hands and smiling down into it as he welcomed the patrons.
And her heart sort of turned. He was glad to see her.
It wasn’t an embarrassing experience. She had visions of him dragging her onto the stage, or coming down off the stage to serenade her. Which would have ended up with her in a permanent state of blushing, and probably never returning. He did, however, look at her. Which turned her red enough, but he spent most of his time on the rest of the crowd, or interacting with the others on stage. It let her enjoy it, instead of worrying. And it wasn’t the minute traces of alcohol that warmed her through to watch him.
He caught her eyes before leaving the stage, gesturing toward the hallway where the bathrooms had been. And she gathered her coat, clearing where she had sat and making her way there. He was waiting, leaning at the furthest point down the hallway. And watching her. It almost made her pause, before she kept moving. And he wasn’t even being subtle about it, looking her up and down.
He held open the door for her, hand on her lower back, leading her into the backstage area. And beside a tall stack of chairs, hidden, pinned her. Kissing the sweet fruit juice from her mouth, his hands at first ringing her waist before one rose to cup her head. And just that tiny bit of lift her heels gave her, made meeting him that much easier.
“I didn’t think you were going to show,” he said, tracing her ear.
“If I hadn’t have been able to come, I’d have called. And I really would’ve called.”
“I’m glad. So-“
His phone buzzed, and she realized he was going to ignore it.
“You should check that,” she said.
And though he frowned, he opened it. And she knew what the text of it read because she’d just managed to hit send on pre-written text.
“My name is Lee Eunhyuk, and I teach kindergarten. And yes, I would like to go out with you.”
He grinned, and kissed her.
And took her home with him.
***
Her body throbbed in the aftermath of pleasure, and she smiled, feeling him press himself against her back. An arm wrapped around her ribs, and up against her chest. And she could smell what they had done, murmuring as he nuzzled the side of her face. It was nice to know they still hadn’t lost anything. Nothing illicit about that sex at all, and he’d still had her clutching around him. All her worries gone, in a blissful post-orgasmic haze. And maybe a few clutching muscles from the enthusiastic sex, but she couldn’t possibly care.
“How long do you think people should date before deciding to get married?”
For some reason, maybe due to the fact that she’d immediately stopped breathing, he realized that he’d made her brain collapse into a series of sounds not replicable by human vocal cords.
“That’s kind of an awkward thing to bring up like this,” he said, acknowledging that he still had a hand cupping one of her breasts. “But honest question.”
She wasn’t even sure how she was supposed to respond, and pulled a number out of her head on a half laugh.
“I don’t know? Six months?”
“So five and a half months to go?” he murmured.
They’d known each other two weeks. Almost exactly.
“Is that a joke?” she asked, all laughter gone from her. At what point had she thought he wouldn’t want to go out with her, much less more?
“I guess we’ll see in six months?”
She wondered if she heard him right, mumbling something about her being what he was looking for. She was too distracted by the heat of his breath against the back of her neck. And maybe it had been his intention, or maybe it was just a byproduct. But she imagined her life in six months, and could imagine him there. And he was. He definitely was.
***