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Dong-eun is wearing a dress, flowy yet fitting against her body. It glints in the lighting of Yeo-jeong's entrance, a baby pink that's easy on the eyes. Spaghetti straps hold the cloth to her chest, which has a round shape cut out of it, revealing just a slither of her cleavage.
Protecting her arms from the cold is a thick cream colored cardigan, baggy enough it folds and sits in such a way they mimic balloon sleeves. Some of her inky hair is pulled up, strands of her bob held back by a clip.
She looks up at Yeo-jeong in a way he's never experienced before, the effect of her gaze amplified by the eyeliner strokes along her eyelids. Her tightly pressed lips open and close, like she's trying to think of what she'll say. But this is Dong-eun; perfectly curated, coordinated Dong-eun, so she must be waiting for him to fill the silence.
"You look beautiful," Yeo-jeong says, feeling self-conscious in his black slacks and white dress shirt. At least they're ironed, he soothes himself.
"You were staring so long," Dong-eun says, the beginnings of a laugh ebbed into her voice, "I almost thought I looked bad."
Yeo-jeong startles at that. He finds the very concept of disliking something partial to Dong-eun repulsive. How could anyone find someone as gorgeous as her bad looking? When the woman is around, all of those words vanish from his vocabulary. "Bad? Of course not!"
"I'm glad," she replies, lines appearing on her face when her mouth tugs upward in a rare expression of joy.
Butterflies flap around in his belly as if presented with fresh, pollen heavy flowers. Her hand stretches out to his, he notices her nails are manicured and just barely reach past her fingertips. Presented to Yeo-jeong like a gift, he takes her hand, pecking the soft, yet worn skin on her knuckles. It makes him feel giddy, like she's a queen and he's her knight in one of those fairytale books. He wonders what kingdom she rules, if it's with an iron fist or with loving, tender hands.
Either way, he'd still be a planet in her orbit. "Let's go," he says, walking to the driveway.
Then they're on the road.
Inside the restaurant is cold, like at the hospital. Yeo-jeong's body has adjusted to it, running hot at all times, but he's not sure Dong-eun's has. Out of pure concern, he takes her hand in his as they're escorted to their table.
The odd thing about their relationship is its beginnings, when it was no more than a seed planted in soil. Yeo-jeong doesn't mean when they met at the hospital and began playing go, he means after.
They revealed their darkest sides to each other first, grime coated won coins. They were both bronze, one and the same with visions of revenge in their minds. Then, they revealed their false selves, polished and glistening, living normal lives. After everything, both sides are finally clean. Yeo-jeong has traded in his scythe for his scalpel, and Dong-eun's working on her architecture degree.
The backwardness of their relationship makes it somewhat difficult when they're sitting in front of each other, searching for something to talk about besides the people they've spent years hating. That, and waxing poetic about Dong-eun, for Yeo-jeong. Dong-eun tilts the drink a few degrees, eyes distant the way they are when she's in deep thought.
"So," Yeo-jeong starts, propping his head up on his elbow. "How are you?"
"Good," Dong-eun supplies, and at Yeo-jeong's stiff nod she looks at the ground and continues. "School is going well," she takes a sip, "one of my old students recognized me."
"Oh? Who was it?" Yeo-jeong asks, eyebrows raised in genuine interest.
"Is it bad that I don't remember her name?"
"It's okay," he laughs, "I can't remember all my patients either."
She nods, a few hairs coming loose from her hair clip and brushing her forehead. Before Yeo-jeong can think about it his thumb is brushing them away, gently sweeping the hair behind her ear where it can no longer bother her. During this time, he gathers a few facts about her. Namely that Dong-eun's reaction time isn't as quick as his, she runs comfortingly warm, and that her smile has the ability to make it feel like honey is pooling at the bottom of his belly.
"Thank you," she utters, and that makes it more than a kind gesture. The warmth in her voice is only something he's heard a select amount of times, reserved for him and him only . Nobody else in this restaurant. It would be odd if not, seeing as no one here is alone, but it still makes Yeo-jeong's breath catch when he looks her in the eyes.
"No problem," he says, presenting his signature smile.
They look at each other longer, eyes glued together like melted chocolate that's cooled down, unable to separate. Her lips look so soft right now, he thinks when his finger is cresting her ear. And they do, the color of crushed pomegranate glazed in a thin layer of lip-gloss.
"What's wrong?" Dong-eun questions, shattering his trance like glass.
"Sorry," Yeo-jeong swallows. But, because he's nothing if not bold, "I just really want to kiss you right now."
"Maybe you can," she says leaning inches further into the table, but not over her plate. Yeo-jeong feels like he can't breathe. "But we have to eat first," gesturing to the food in front of the two of them. Of course, he's reminded. The entire reason we're here.
Yeo-jeong nods, picking up a piece of kimbap with his chopsticks and placing it into his mouth. After swallowing he asks: "Is there anything you want for dessert?"
Dong-eun's head is back in that slight tilt it was in moments ago. "I'll order later," she decides after flitting through the laminated menu, pushing the glossy pages closed.
By the time they're done eating dinner, more conversation has flowed between the two. Dong-eun orders bingsu, plans on returning to teaching while she gets her degree, and she wants to show Yeo-jeong some of her art from when she was in high school. "It's better than my art now," she claims, but Yeo-jeong doubts her skill has depleted. They have banter about it— if her drawing skills hold up nowadays.
Soon it'll be second nature , talking to each other. The need to ease themselves into the pool of conversation will be unnecessary. They'll adapt to it, and make it home.
"I'm ready," Dong-eun says after taking the final spoon of bingsu into her mouth. She eats slower than Yeo-jeong, like she's savoring every bit of food that touches her tongue, down to every grain of rice. Something she didn't have the luxury of doing just months ago. He nods reassuringly and calls the waiter over, paying and leaving with his arm linked in Dong-eun's.
Back home, Dong-eun kicks her heels off the moment they step into the entryway, letting out a content sigh when her feet touch the cool tile floors. She doesn't notice Yeo-jeong inspecting her while she slips into her house shoes, on autopilot. The implications make his heart skip a beat. She was staying here. After a date. With him.
The strands of hair from earlier are presented again in her face, tinted pink from the alcohol. The cardigan she wore drops down her arms, barely high enough to cover her tattoo. Like this, she looks... soft . there's no other way for Yeo-jeong to describe it.
"Do you– do you want me to put up the tent?" He asks her, fully ready to wrestle the damned thing out of his closet and put it together with the power of muscle memory.
Dong-eun, surprisingly, throws her head back and laughs. "No. We're sharing a bed, isn't that what couples do?"
He looks away, face on fire. Couple! She said a couple! "Oh! That should've been obvious, my bad-"
Dong-eun kisses him, pressing her lips against his.
He kisses back, hoping the contact will release some of this pent up heat in his chest. Like a balloon stuffed to capacity with helium angrily pressing against latex walls. It serves no purpose, only making the feeling increase as she hooks the insides of her elbows around his nape, mouth sweet with residual bingsu. The remains make him more eager to push his tongue into her mouth, press shallow nibbles into her bottom lip and then swipe his tongue across it.
They're halfway to the bedroom, but Yeo-jeong doesn't think they'll make it as his eyes close shut again, too busy focusing on savoring Dong-eun's touch. Taste. Everything .
His hands slide down her sides, resting at her hips moments before they separate, gripping the flesh beneath the fabrics and diving in once again.
Yeo-jeong kisses Dong-eun like it's the last thing he'll ever get to do, not wasting a second pressing her back into the wall after they catch their breaths. She's never experienced this before, someone so fervent to be with her, let alone kiss her until she's half dazed and her lips feel like they're about to fall off. When she paws his neck, he makes a sound, high on the end of a question. He notices her lips are parted, small breaths escaping in and out past her lips.
Don't stop, she thinks, the phrase on replay in her mind. Her head is like a wiped clean, only thoughts of what she wants and each direction this can branch off into present themselves in her mind. She must've thought it aloud, because Yeo-jeong trails down the tender flesh of her throat, planting small kisses down to her trapezius that bloom into the searing red heat she hasn't been familiar with in years. Pleasure.
"Dong-eun," he whispers, the warmth of his breath ghosting the crook of her neck. He stares up at her in search of direction, the deep brown of his eyes consumed by his darker pupils. Almost like a puppy, but that expression is laughable when slender fingers are sliding up her narrow thigh, middle finger caught on the thin fabric and pushing up, up, up .
"Dong-eun," he echoes, voice velvety. "Can we go to bed?"
The bedroom. Dong-eun remembers. The infinite possibilities of what can happen shatter and multiply into millions of fractals.
Yeo-jeong is always surprising her, from his thick veil of kindness and purity, to his unsettling devotion. This…his ability to stuff her lungs full of cotton from contact alone is another one of those surprises.
They're in the bedroom in no time, his cotton sheets soft against her exposed calves. He's got her in a half-hold, thumbs rubbing the part of her hips where dips in the fabric would be present. He eases up, allowing the force of gravity to fully seat her.
Dong-eun quickly lets the cardigan slide off her arms, stylishly oversized. Yeo-jeong has already pulled his shirt off, the sound of buttons clacking to the carpeted ground covered by the blood singing in her ears. He's generously sculpted, all that cardio having paid off, and she can't take her eyes off him.
"I'll help you take that off," Yeo-jeong says, standing between her legs.
"Thank you," Dong-eun utters dryly, at a loss for words. He doesn't reply, leaving lingering touches as he pulls the thin straps down her arms. Their difference in height— difference in size is especially apparent here, the palms of his hands enveloping her shoulders completely.
"I wanted to tell you how gorgeous you look," he's dragging the top half down, revealing the strapless bra beneath; Dong-eun is unclipping it as he speaks. "So perfect. I'm so lucky,"
Dong-eun can't look him in the eyes as he continues, instead watching his mouth work around the syllables. " Anything you wear— it's perfect. But this…I could barely focus on anything else the whole night." His hands are dragging down her back, taking the last remnants of the dress with them.
The expensive garment tossed aside, Yeo-jeong continues his rampage on Dong-eun with full focus.
He's kissing from her collarbone down to her waistline, letting the tip of his tongue graze the skin when Dong-eun's head tilts back, legs tightening around the man's sides. It's involuntary, and almost embarrassing when the male stops everything to look up at her; to assess how she feels. She hasn't felt this in ages, every experience relating to it muddled by the passing years.
But…she wants this. She thinks, and judging by the shine in Yeo-jeong's eyes, he does too.
This is real, Dong-eun nearly stripped bare, laid out for him with her legs caged around his sides. It overtakes him, how good this feels when they haven't even begun. Yet Dong-eun's eyes are far away, dark and tapering off into the abyss of her mind. He cups her jaw with his hand, letting the words flow past his lips as if it's been hardwired into his being.
"Focus on me," he says, voice a low whisper. For safe measure he hooks his fingers under her panties, dragging the cream colored garment down her hips at a snail's pace. "You don't have to worry about anything right now."
Dong-eun huffs, watching as he drags the underwear over the hill of her knee and down to her ankle. He sees the clear movement of her neck as she looks down at herself, breath caught in her lungs.
She's gorgeous there too, glistening, slick coating everything from her clit down to her hole. In the back of Yeo-jeong's head he wonders if she's done this with anyone else. Who they were, how they treated her.
It doesn't matter. Or, it won't when he's done with her; but the questions still make their presence known.
"Are you just going to stare?" Dong-eun is sat higher up now, a hand nestled in Yeo-jeong's thick hair. Her nails just barely graze his scalp in the grip.
"Sorry," he murmurs, scenarios cycling through his mind. "What do you want me to do?"
Sure, one could call it mean— how he drags this out despite knowing what she wants— but he wants to hear the words fall out of her mouth.
"Touch me," she says, and Yeo-Jeong nods, there is only so much he can coax out of Dong-eun in a night.
Instead, he starts between the folds of her pussy, close to her slit and slowly inching his tongue upwards, lapping at the inviting liquid dripping there. Dong-eun's leg moves, a nervous tick she can't control. He pushes his fingers into the outer side of her thigh to limit its movement, warm against his skin, and continues.
Her breaths get heavier, morphing into soft pants that she tries to exhale and inhale through her nose. He circles his tongue around everywhere but her clit taking his time swiping his tongue across her entrance and above the engorged flesh. The hands now pressing into his shoulder lose strength, dampness settled into the crater of her palm.
Dong-eun is near silent except for low, heavy, pants pushing out of her lungs. He flattens his tongue against her clit, empathizing with the suffocating heat swelling in her chest. The hand gripping his hair tightens, pulling him millimeters forward, noze brushing against the stubble of her pubes.
He considers what her goal is; if she wants more or is so affected by the searing heat she can't think rationally. It's getting to him too, the impatience nestled in his chest like a stick of dynamite on the verge of exploding.
So, he stops teasing, putting all his attention on her clit like he's built for it. Dong-eun's legs shudder in his hold as he swirls his tongue around it, mewling when he pushes her legs up for a better angle despite the soreness working its way up his jaw.
He looks up and she tries to cover her mouth, laying the rest of her back across the bed—
"Come here, let yourself feel it."
—only for it to bow when he focuses on eating her out again, wrapping his lips around the sensitive flesh and sucking.
For the first time tonight Dong-eun moans , crystal clear over Yeo-jeong's sloppy noises. Her hands grip the sheets so tightly the veins beneath her skin poke out.
"Yeo-Jeong," she whines. Fucking. Whines. "I'm gonna come,"
At that he doubles down, pushing himself from his calves to his knees until Dong-eun pulls his head back with a powerful tug.
Yeo-Jeong is practically drooling, lips cherry red. His eyes are dark. Not in the way they usually are, but velvety and deep, soft yet daunting. He looks moments away from falling apart, the way he gazes at her so hot it makes her ache with arousal. Most likely how he feels at this moment.
"I don't wanna come like this," he shifts his head to the side. "I want you inside of me. It'll feel good for both of us and not just me,"
"Are you–are you sure?" He stutters, back to that naive demeanor.
"Yes, I want this. You want it too, right? "
"Fuck," he breaths. "Yeah Dong-eun, you don't even know."
And Dong-eun agrees. She can't comprehend all the ways Dong-eun wants her—crying, moaning, screaming, mind, body, and soul. Not yet at least, and judging by the visions dancing behind his eyes that's not even close to the tip of the iceberg. But hopefully by the end of tonight she'll have made one scenario real for him.
"I'll get a condom," he says. With his pants off she can see the tent in his briefs, a wet spot forming from what could only be beads of pre-come, no better than her panties.
"You don't need one– unless you want it obviously, but I'm on birth control,"
Yeo-jeong raises his eyebrows at her, and she's not sure if he's going to become Dr. Joo and launch into a monologue about how contraceptives don't always work and yada yada yada. Thankfully, he simply nods, because like Dong-eun, he just really wants to fuck.
Almost like a nudge in the right direction, Dong-eun takes a hand and spreads herself open, pussy so slick with her arousal and Yeo-jeong's spit it sticks to her fingers.
"Shit," he whispers beneath his breath, swiping his tongue across his lips as if to savor the last remnants of the woman while slipping off his underwear.
His cock is clean shaven, cockhead a reddish-pink and drooling pre-come. Dong-eun wants it inside of her. Now.
But he's taking his time, allowing his tip to push into her opening, marveling at the stretch. He's slow, but she'll allow it. Only because Yeo-jeong ate her out so well she almost came while in his mouth.
Molasses slow, he presses all the way inside, knocking the breath right out of Dong-eun's lungs.
She's perfect. Warm and wet and molded to Yeo-jeong's cock like it's what she was made for. He moans so as he gives a shallow thrust, leaning into Dong-eun.
"Is it good?" He asks while sinking in again, lining her neck with kisses to smother his urge to bite the pale skin. Dong-eun doesn't reply, squeezing his shoulders assuringly instead. Her head is up, eyes squeezed shut while she takes in the sensation of being stuffed with cock.
Yeo-jeong uses his remaining self control to set a moderate pace, enough to get sounds to spill from her mouth, high and sweet. A far cry from the woman's low and serious voice. Pleasure courses through him in waves with each thrust, leaving droplets of bliss behind. He's felt this before, but not like this. With such intensity that it leaves him questioning whether he'll last or not as he fucks into her walls.
"Fuck, Yeo-Jeong!" She cries out, and he can see everything now that he isn't leaning over her. Her clit is erect and throbbing, a deep pink with arousal. Poor thing, he thinks, moving his hand to touch it when a lightbulb flickers on in his head. If he times this right, both of them can come at the same time. Dong-eun can wait, right?
She desperately takes her hand off his shoulder to touch herself. Apparently not. He released his hold on one of her thighs to hold her wrist, noticing the fast beating of her heart.
"Hold on," he utters, meeting her gaze. She gives an expression similar to a pout, but that all melts away when he hits a certain spot.
"Need to come," she gasps.
"Just a few more seconds, baby,"
"I can't wait, Yeo-jeong. Please fucking touch me,"
Yeo-jeong makes a pleased sound, he can't say no to that. Not when she's being so sweet, and circles his thumb around her clit, sopping wet.
"Yes, keep going!"
He picks up the pace in both motions, fucking her while playing with her clit until he feels her pulsate around him, the same time he comes, legs wrapped tightly around his sides.
"Fuck Dong-eun, you're so perfect, good girl," the name slips past his lips like water, spoken like a regular part of his speech.
She pulls him closer to her, making his release spill deeper inside of her as he hunches over, grabbing the headboard.
Their pants mix as they ride out their climaxes, Yeo-jeong slipping out and Dong-eun sitting up after catching their breaths. They stare at each other for who knows how long, the passage of time wiped clean. She speaks first.
"Good girl?" Dong-eun asks, making Yeo-jeong's already pinched-red cheeks flush harder.
"Sorry, I don't even know why I said that," he looks away as she pushes the grown out strands of hair out of his face and behind his ear.
"It's fine," she replies, "hot."
"So you want me to call you that next time?"
"Next time?" Dong-eun says out loud before she can process it. Her heart skips multiple beats. Next time. That has too many meanings to count.
"Unless you don't want to have sex again! I completely—"
"That's not what I meant. I was just surprised,"
He nods, "Wait. Does that mean you want to do this again?"
"Have sex?"
"Not just that, going out together, visiting each other, y'know, couple stuff."
Couple stuff. Dong-eun tilts her head. Ever since he kissed her and they worked together to plot his revenge and when she started doing things for him she'd never do for anyone else she never thought to put a label on it. But hearing those words, they were extremely satisfying. Felt right down to her soul. A couple, she and Yeo-jeong.
"Yes," she replies breathily like she's dreaming, "I'd love to be your girlfriend."
A smile blooms across Yeo-jeong's face; a genuine one. He gets up off of the bed excitedly.
"Moon Dong-eun is my girlfriend," he slips his arms under her legs.
Dong-eun grabs the sheets, confused."What are you doing?"
"Cleaning my girlfriend up," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek.
Dong-eun sighs, secretly overjoyed.