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He was utterly ridiculous. To think, that he was a real person, who’d really had you kneel over his face on a couch with panoramic windows over Seoul, in broad daylight and after making you shake apart more times than you even thought you could, still held you in a steady upright position even when you were panting out stop.
”Are you sure? I’ll not force you, but I think you’ve got one more in you.” He said, gentle yet dark eyes focused on your face above him.
”Namjoon-”
Your body was shaking, and you were halfway convinced you’d never be able to stand up again and his breath on your sensitive sex was enough to make you shudder all over again. You’d probably gripped the armrest hard enough to leave permanent indentions.
”Please?”
Your breath got stuck in your throat, and when you looked down at him, he had the audacity to look innocent despite his face being shiny and slick and flushed, his eyes dark. ”I’ve got you.” He added, velvety soft voice and made his point even clearer by squeezing at your waist. You weren’t sure what the fuck kind of eight wonder of the world his arms were – he was a rapper, not a dancer, how the hell he was able to keep you steady for this long.
How were you supposed to say no?
His face lit up as you nodded slow and shaky, and he squeezed reassuringly at your sides again before a broad, flat tongue was once again pressed to your lips, pressing softly as it moved up, stopping just shy of your oversensitive clit. A shudder travelled through you and you gripped the armrest even tighter as he did it again, felt him smile against you when you choked out his name.
”Namjoon…”
”Yes, baby?” He replied, his lips moving against you and sending a shockwave through you. ”I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”
You didn’t doubt he was going to make good on that promise – slowly he picked up the pace, licking from your ass to just below your clit with enthusiasm, increasing the pressure ever so slightly as he went on repeating it over and over. When you choked out a sob and attempted to grind down to meet his mouth – attempted being the defining word, his arms still keeping you just where he wanted you – you heard a quiet, dark chuckle from beneath you and it made your stomach twist, your toes curl.
”I hear you, princess.” He mumbled fondly, and with that, his next lick reached your clit with just enough pressure, making you cry out and your body thrash again. And he did it again, faster this time, now wasting no time thankfully, having spent enough time teasing you at the start of this whole ordeal, which must have been hours ago at this point. Your legs started to shake again, your whines getting more and more high pitched by the second. It was like you were a rubber band, stretched to its limits, about to snap.
”Close” You choked out, swallowing around a growing lump in your throat and your body trembling uncontrollably. Namjoon didn’t reply with more than a knowing hum – he knew the signs by this point. And, the slick motherfucker had seemingly saved one of his tricks to the grand finale. Just as your stomach muscles started to contract, your cries silent and your body tensing up, he shifted one of his arms, tightened his grip at the same time as he let go with his other hand letting it travel up, fondle your breast, and finally twist your nipple at the same time as he pressed his entire tongue against your clit. You heard a scream leave your mouth as your orgasm crashed over you like a force of nature, felt tears slide down your cheeks as everything went white and your body shook out of control down against him and his mouth, your legs clamping together around his head.
You weren’t sure if seconds, minutes, or even weeks had passed when you came back to – shivering, as you realized Namjoon was blowing gently against you, still in place between your thighs and warm, dazed eyes glancing up at you. Trying to catch your breath, you shakily moved your head side to side – enough was enough. Namjoon chuckled quietly, and softly pressed a kiss to your still twitching, soaked sex before he gently lifted you by your waist, guiding you to lay down on the inside of the wide, plush couch, he himself scooting closer to the edge. You collapsed against the cushions, and whined when you felt your legs rubbing together – too much, you were too sensitive.
”You did have one more in you.” Namjoon whispered, when he’d settled beside you. Your eyes were closed, but you felt his breath on your face and a smile twitched across your face as you breathed in deep, trying to gain back control of your lungs. A soft hand wiped at the damp trail on cheek where tears had made their way earlier.
”I made you cry.”
It was a mystery to you, why his voice was so full of wonder – one could almost believe he didn’t know what he was doing, what he had been doing for the past hours. You nodded weakly against the cushion below your head.
”You did.” You croaked, all at once realizing how dry your throat was. Namjoon chuckled, warm and rumbling and made your stomach flutter in a completely different way to earlier, and you felt a faint kiss against your forehead before sensing movement.
”I’ll get you some water, hold on.”
Ever the gentleman. You only managed to hum a response, and for a short moment, you were alone with your thoughts.
What an odd situation. How many, realistically, could say that they’d been boneless and naked on a couch belonging to a member of one of the biggest names in music of the moment, after said member had made you orgasm more times in one go than you ever would have guessed was possible? Probably not all too many. Probably very few. The number would be even smaller, you thought, if you only counted the ones who were looked at by said star like they were the full moon in a clear sky, bright and ever mesmerizing.
His steps alerted you to his return.
”Up we go.” He said, gently coaxing you into a more upright position. You slumped against him and couldn’t help but giggle at your own incapability to sit and he joined you in laughter.
”I really did a number on you, huh?”
Talk about stating the obvious. You gulped down the water and pondered if something had ever tasted as good in your life. You couldn’t think of anything.
”I’m never going to be able to walk again.” You pouted, expression signalling displeasure but voice revealing the statements true, bemused nature.
”I’ll just have to carry you then.” Namjoon replied confidently, wrapping an arm around you and leaning down to press a kiss against your collarbone. You snorted.
”I’m not sure if I would have believed you a few hours ago, but you’ve certainly proved you wouldn’t break much of a sweat doing so.”
When you opened your eyes, Namjoon took up most of your field of vision, his face still faintly red and his hair an absolute mess – reminding you that you probably looked absolutely destroyed. But, judging by his expression, he didn’t seem to mind that one bit. You’d rather bet on the opposite.
”Hi.” He replied, smiling wide when you shook your head in disbelief.
”Kim Namjoon, you’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.” You stated and were immediately rewarded with warm laughter. You looked around for your clothes – you could barely even remember when and where they’d been discarded but peeking towards the kitchen you spotted a familiar pile of green. A shiver reminded you that you were, in fact, still naked, and you looked from your – probably completely crumpled – dress to Namjoon with an expectant expression. He raised his eyebrows at you and clicked his tongue and sighed dramatically as he stood up again after gently peeling you off him.
”So demanding, this one.” He said, not even trying to conceal the amusement in his voice when you huffed in response.
”That’s what happens when you spoil somebody.” You told him to his back – which moved in the opposite direction of your dress, towards the bedroom. No reply came before he disappeared behind the corner, but he reappeared as quickly chucking a hoodie in your direction.
”I really do spoil you, huh.” He sighed, feigned trouble in his voice. You huffed, equally feigned annoyance in yours as you pulled the pleasurably warm hoodie over your head.
”Are you insinuating that I don’t deserve it?”
Namjoon’s eyes rested on you across the room when you made eye contact with him again, something thoughtful and almost guarded in his gaze, all at once throwing off the playful atmosphere completely.
”Never.” He finally said, before striding back towards you, the couch dipping beside you as he sunk into it and lazy arms reached for you, and pulled you close, his heat still a welcomed presence despite the hoodie protecting you from freezing to death. You shifted to make yourself comfortable, nuzzling against his shoulder blade and let out a pleased sigh as he leaned back with you draped over him. A hand combed through your hair once, twice, and then came to rest on the back of your head, settling into lazy scratching at your scalp, coaxing another happy noise out of you.
”I’d never insinuate such a thing, spoiled princess.” He whispered, voice surprisingly thick with emotion, causing you to plant a hand against the couch and push yourself up to look at his face. What met your eyes had your stomach flip, a slightly too sharp inhale to be natural before you could even think to stop it. Namjoon looked back at you, brows furrowed in an uncharacteristic expression which almost registered as upset in your head at first – his eyes met yours and he pushed his bottom lip out, exhaling forcefully through his nose. It was an odd sight – you weren’t sure what you were looking at, and it made you a little bit anxious. It was almost too much, felt like you were intruding on very, very private emotions and you wondered whether or not you should look away. Thankfully, you didn’t have to make a decision about that, as Namjoon’s hand came up to cradle your face, and guided it down until his lips pressed against yours. Softly, at first, but almost instantly more insistent, the hand on your head twitching before gripping softly at your hair as your eyes slid shut and the one under your chin traveling down to nestle itself around your chest to rub your back lazily when his tongue darted out to lick against your lips. You sighed into the kiss, and let yourself melt into it – let yourself melt further than usual for reasons unknown, emotions seeping out of your chest and breathed into Namjoon’s mouth. His body beneath you shuddered, and with one last press against your lips he tenderly pulled at your hair, and mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out.
”What?” You whispered, watching a smile twitch across Namjoon’s face as he shifted and steered your body back down to rest against his.
”I said, your arm is shaking.”
You hadn’t even noticed. Figures he would, that he did. Never in your life had you met someone as attentive to you as Kim Namjoon. Strange, considering his ability to break and drop stuff so often. Attentive to you, inattentive to his surroundings.
”Huh, I wonder why.” You replied in a deadpan voice, and felt a silent chuckle beneath you, and his hand ruffling your hair.
”Maybe you need to start working out a bit more?”
He laughed when you weakly punched against his chest – accidentally technically proving his point entirely, even though he was being ironic.
You fell into a comfortable silence together, and you shifted your head so that you could gaze out the panoramic windows, a stunning view of Seoul in dusk, bright LED lights competing with each other for who could fend away most darkness. If only someone would have told you before you decided to do this exchange year, that this was where you were going to end up. You’d never have believed them.
Hey, halfway through your exchange year, you’ll end up in the VIP area in a club by chance and spot a vaguely familiar guy who doesn’t look like he particularly wants to be there and ask him, in all of your slightly intoxicated glory and a tight skirt, what he’s thinking about and then you’re going to end up discussing philosophy with pumping bass in the background until he asks you if you want to leave, and then you do and then you have soju in his ridiculously nice apartment and then you’re on top of him and you fuck and in the morning you realize he’s the one on the magazine cover on his coffee table and surprise, he’s in one of the countries biggest idol groups! And then he invites you back over when his stupidly busy schedule gives him a break and you have to make up an excuse to tell your roommates why you’re leaving because you don’t want out him or something because you heard from somewhere that they’re not allowed to date and what if that includes sleeping around and you don’t want to get him in trouble you don't know how this works and only the one roommate who was with you at the club knows you’re fucking a celebrity and then he keeps inviting you over and you get to know him and he’s really smart and sweet and half a dozen weeks or so later he makes you sit on his face for hours and now you’re maybe a little bit in love with him!
… Fuck.
You’re a little bit in love with him. Maybe. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back and your heart hurts. You’re definitely a little bit in love with him. Or maybe infatuated? Crushing? That sounds better. Less dangerous.
Your eyes travel across Seoul, the city you never would’ve thought you’d end up in and yet have fallen in love with, your hand scratches idly behind Namjoon’s ear. He sighs in what sounds like absolute contentment and your heart hurts again. You try to reason with your mind – you’re just infatuated. You’re probably not even the only one he’s seeing, considering… Well, his whole thing, he knows and meets countless of impossibly beautiful women, you remind yourself despite the slight bitter taste in your mouth at the thought.
Although.
He’s rarely not busy. He works, and works, and works. Last time you’d been here, he’d texted you late and asked if you were awake, and upon your confirmation that you in fact, were very awake, sent a text that had, to you, read strangely hesitant in tone compared to your earlier exchanges. He’d asked if you just wanted to come and watch a movie – and clearly meant it, it wasn’t written as code for anything else. And, of course, you’d been halfway through changing from pyjama pants to real clothes seconds after reading the text, and on your way not even twenty minutes later. When you’d arrived, you’d been greeted by a Namjoon clearly exhausted, purple under his eyes and heavy arms wrapping around your body, deep breaths against your head and his nose nuzzling your hair.
”Long day?” You’d whispered, voice strangled by the unfamiliarity of it all. He’d nodded against you with a sigh.
”Yeah. Sorry for making you come all this way so late. Needed to see you.” He’d mumbled, something incomprehensible in his voice, making your lungs feel tight and your arms, wrapped around him, pull him closer still.
”Don’t be sorry.” You’d replied softly. ”Although, if we’re going to watch a movie, I’d like to take of my shoes and my jacket first.
He’d whined as he peeled himself off you, but grinned when you saw his face again and despite how he’d just stepped back, and you’d felt equally warm as you had when he was close.
Something had been different, last time. Different in a way that was so obvious, at least to you but also to him you figured – he’d been more hesitant, which was strange to you after getting used to his domineering nature in bed. It was the first time you’d fallen asleep together without fucking first, and despite that it’d felt way more intimate than the time before when he’d literally been inside of you half an hour before you fell asleep.
How come, a voice in your head questioned, you saw him as much as you did, despite his busy life? When would he have time to see other girls?
It felt cruel. It felt like a cruel voice, inducing cruel hope and egging on your growing attachment to this clumsy, kind, sarcastic and stupidly intelligent man. But it also made sense in a way that was even more unhelpful – if he was seeing other girls, things didn’t add up.
You’d fucked in the morning, last time, slow and lazy and he’d fingered you with one of his arms tightly around you, your back pressed to his chest and his mouth whispering filth into your ear as he pulled two orgasms out of you before his dick got any more attention than rubbing against your ass. An attentive lover. What an understatement. You’d found Namjoon seemed to have a goal of having you come as many times as possible by any means necessary, and sometimes – times like tonight, he’d insisted he was happy just making you feel good. You could feel him still half hard against your thigh, but after trying to redirect some attention to him after both orgasm three and four and receiving clear signs he wasn’t interested in any of that at this particular point in time you’d given up on that – and now, you were simply too tired. If he changed his mind now, he’d put himself in this situation.
”I can hear you thinking.” Namjoon mumbled against your hair. You’d drifted away in your thoughts, eyes half open and distracted by the pretty lights and suddenly, you felt overly aware of reality, of your own feelings, about Namjoon’s heat against you.
”Yeah?” You replied. He nodded.
”Want to share?”
You weren’t sure if you did want to share. If you even could. What would you say?
”Thinking about you. And me.” You finally said after a missed beat and a deep breath, and you felt Namjoon tense up behind you in an instant. Your stomach fell – he’d probably heard this before. And he probably didn’t want to hear it again. It’s trouble. You know it is. But you’ve lived long enough to have learned that nothing good comes from keeping things like this a secret, from pushing them back.
”Yeah?” Namjoon mumbled, voice strangely small.
”Mhm.”
Silence fell again. The sun had settled enough to turn the apartment dark, no lights were turned on – when this whole thing had started, sun had been seeping in through the windows, warm on your skin.
”What are you thinking about?” You finally said, breaking the silence again before it became too heavy and thick.
”You.” He replied, way too easily, cruelly making your heart skip a beat. You forced out a chuckle.
”Yeah?” You said, imitating his earlier reply. He, however, didn’t imitate your hummed answer.
”Yeah. I’m thinking, that I really like you.”
Maybe you’d fallen asleep and this was a dream. You sure felt hazy, too heavy for your own body, like you’d stumble and fall if you tried to stand up.
”But?” You filled in, voice unfortunately breathless. There was a but missing there, you could feel it. Most likely, a but I don’t want you to think this is more than it is.
”But I don’t know if we should continue seeing each other.”
There it was. Despite how expected it was, it hurt as much as it probably would have if it’d been a surprise. A lump similar to, but entirely different in nature to the one that had made you cry earlier started to take shape in your throat. Suddenly, despite the comfort of Namjoon’s arms, you found yourself wishing you were anywhere but in them. A fleeting, dramatic thought flashed by in your head that you wished that the windows would disappear so you could fling yourself off the edge, but it disappeared as quickly as it came – that was ridiculous. You didn’t want to die, you reminded yourself, urging your brain to calm the fuck down and get it together.
”I like you more than I should. Probably more than I’m allowed to.”
Your plan in action of having your mind get it together slowed to a halt as you tried to take his words in, and make sense of them. After a few attempts, it stood clear that you couldn’t.
”Huh?” You asked, realizing how stupid it sounded right as it fell out of your mouth. You took a breath, intending to add something more substantial to your reply, but a strangely self-deprecating laughter behind you stopped you, and you felt Namjoon’s arms around you tighten.
”Isn’t it selfish of me to like a girl when my life is like this? What could I give her, realistically? Not what she deserves, that’s for sure. You deserve more than a man who calls you for comfort when he’s had a bad day, but can’t promise to be able to give you the same thing back.”
You wondered how long one could hold their breath for before they died – maybe you were about to set a record. It certainly felt like it, your head swimming with so many thoughts that it seemed to entirely forget to order your lungs to exhale.
Kim Namjoon, superstar and crush of many a teenagers and young women across the world, kind and intelligent as only few people are, is telling you he like-likes you (hold on, what are you, eight? What’s this train of thought, and why is it traveling through the land of childhood language?) and that you deserve better than him. It’s a swindling and ridiculous thought – who could possibly be better? Sure, he is right about his schedule, you’d be happy if it allowed him more breaks if for nothing else but his own health, but you can’t wrap your head around the idea that he believes somebody would ever treat you better than he has, these past few weeks. They may be few, but the hours add up and so do the texts, and the phone calls you suspect he’s made in secret when you’ve been stressed and oh, why have you even tried to convince yourself that he’s not in the same boat as you? A boat that is, completely and wonderfully fucked.
”Do my opinions in the matter not count?” You finally ask, careful to keep your voice neutral – the situation, despite the clarity of it feels so fragile, and you fear what may happen if you don’t keep at least a few of your walls up. Namjoon clicks his tongue.
”I’m guessing you’re kind of sick of this too, no?”
For someone so attentive and someone who’s understood you so well, he couldn’t be further off. Something twists painfully inside of you when you realize that this is insecurity, something you could never have imagined him having until this very moment.
”Kim Namjoon.” You say, shifting and rolling over to face him, determined to be brave enough to handle it. The expression on his face still throws you for a loop, but you hold on – you’re not going to let it throw you off, at least.
”I want more of you too. We’ll figure it out.” You say, like it’s easy, but when his eyebrows move up in surprise, before his face settles into an expression only describable as awe bordering on reverent, it feels that easy. It feels obvious. Namjoon’s lips turn up into a smile once again – a smile that you decide you want to see as often as you possibly can, for as long as possible – and he nods.
”Okay.”
That is all he says, before he tugs you in, and yet again closes the distance between your lips. He tastes like you, but even more than that, he tastes like home.