Beautiful Strangers

by lyejee

Summary:

The NDA in your hands isn’t hard to understand. It outlines much that you’d expect: don’t tell anyone, don’t post about it, don’t allude to any sort of relation to the idol in question.

Essentially: pretend this never happened.

-

After your first and what is supposed to be your only night with Rafayel, main vocalist of EVOL, you're meant to keep your distance. But it seems like he just keeps preventing that from happening.

Chapter 1: Chance

Summary:

Face to face with your favorite idol, you end up in his bed.

Notes:

non-disclosure agreement (NDA)

The NDA in your hands isn’t hard to understand. It outlines much that you’d expect: don’t tell anyone, don’t post about it, don’t allude to any sort of relation to the idol in question.

Essentially: pretend this never happened.

It’s simple enough. But you’re shaking, nervous and in disbelief at what you’re really holding. You’ve only really heard of this happening online, rumors and speculations about those who’ve caught the eye of their favorite idols. The idea shouldn't even have gotten around, but it has and you didn’t believe it until now.

You gulp, hovering the pen given to you over the last box requiring your signature.

The whole situation is nothing but surreal. Questions flit through your head over the span of it all. Why you? Were you randomly picked from the crowd? Have you caught someone’s attention? You’re dressed quite similarly to other concert goers. It’s hard to fathom that you were distinguished among others if you’re being honest with yourself.

You sigh, deciding to say “fuck it” before signing and handing that clipboard back to Rafayel’s manager. A bit embarrassing that you know him by name too just by association.

He grabs the clipboard from your hands, looking it over to make sure everything is in check, before looking back at you again. He gives you a weird look in a way that makes you question whether or not you made the right decision before he sighs in resignation. It would be a shame to chicken out of a once in a lifetime opportunity.

He looks down at his watch before looking at your awkward stance again. “They’ll be back at their hotel by midnight,” he hands you a paper with an address on it.

You gulp before nodding, holding the slip with both hands. It was scary enough to be led backstage by the concert venue’s bodyguards. But to be told to meet a man in his hotel later that same night is a whole other thing, no matter how much of a fan you are of said man.

“Will I not be questioned?,” you ask.

Thomas shakes his head, typing away at his phone as he answers. “I’ll meet you there and the staff will be made aware of your company,” he looks up at you one last time, taking in how anxious you look, “The decision is still yours, by the way. If you’d rather go home, that is perfectly up to you.”

You worry your bottom lip, looking away to not show your confliction to the other man. “Thank you,” you bow, “Um, how do I leave?” You look left and right, not quite sure how you’re going to slip out from being backstage.

Thomas calls over one of the venue’s bodyguards and you bow goodbye to him one last time before you’re led out and to one of the exits in the back, away from the public eye.

You show up to the hotel intentionally late, not wanting to look overly excited. It’s a bit of the truth, really, you’re nervous more than anything. Not only will you be meeting your favorite idol one on one, you’ll also be meeting on the pretense of sex? A bit odd. You wonder how often this happens.

You walk through the double doors of the hotel awkwardly, watching your cab drive off beforehand just for the excuse to not walk through those doors faster. Thomas is waiting for you in the front, just as he said, and he waves when he sees your familiar attire.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” he tries making conversation when you meet him.

You shrug. “Yeah, well,” you don’t know where to go from there. You don’t really want to talk about how you’re there to fuck one of the members of the group he works for.

He drops the topic after that, the conversation just as awkward for him, and he leads you to the elevators and up to the floor where the members of your favorite group of all time rest. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. You were already freaking out over getting barricade at your first ever concert and seeing them up close in person. This just feels like something out of a fever dream.

Soon enough you find yourself in front of a door behind Thomas, the other man knocking on it in a way that seems hesitant.

You don’t know how to react when your bias, main vocalist of EVOL, Rafayel, opens the door. You know it will be him. His name was on the NDA and Thomas was supervising the whole exchange and yet it still feels surreal to be face to face with him somewhere as mundane as the hallway of a hotel.

Rafayel looks at you and you basically freeze.

“Uh, yeah, um,” Thomas stutters between you and Rafayel. He looks away from Rafayel, turning towards you as if too embarrassed at knowing what his employer will be up to for the night. He points down the hall. “I’ll be in that room over there. I’ll fetch you a ride when… you’re done.”

Your face burns at the implication and Thomas awkwardly leaves down the hall and you’re left alone with none other than the idol you’ve been following for years now.

He smiles down at you. It’s friendly enough. “Come in,” he steps aside and your shoulders hitch before you do as he says, clutching the straps of your bag. He closes the door behind you and it feels even more surreal being in an enclosed space with no one other than him.

He steps past you while you remain by the door, throwing his coat on the floor while he loosens the top few buttons of his shirt.

“How was the concert?”

You blink. What a casual question.

You shuffle on your feet. “It was fun?”

This is so weird.

“Yeah?,” he looks at you by the door and you stiffen again. “What’s in the bag?,” he points to the bag on your shoulder.

It takes a few seconds for you to register what he said before you answer. “Oh, um,” you adjust the bag on your shoulder, “It’s freebies and stuff from the concert.”

He ah’s in amusement. “Can I see?”

You furrow your eyebrows. This is not at all what you thought this interaction would be but you’re a little relieved it didn’t start with the man of your adoration getting straight to business by stripping. You think you would puke.

You take a few tentative steps forward until you’re standing by the foot of his bed. You gesture stiffly to ask if you can set the bag in his bed and he nods with a smile. You feel him step beside you to look at what you’re doing and you can feel your ears start to burn.

“Some LOVEs like to give away stuff like this,” you begin, pulling out fanmade photostrips, bracelets, keychains. You hope he’s not weirded out. It’s one thing to pride yourself in fan culture with other fans but to show your favorite idol your little collection of photos and trinkets with his and his members names on it feels a little silly.

“Have you given away any?”

If you were more calm and the sound of your own heartbeat wasn’t blaring in your ears maybe you would catch on to how deliberate his trail of questions are. But you don’t and you nod stiffly.

“Yeah! I do stuff like this,” you take out a small pouch that holds the extras of the freebies you gave away, little mock photocards with your drawings of each of the boys. You feel him breathing over your shoulder and you don’t dare meet his gaze.

“Are there any of me?”

You look at the clear pouch in your hands where a mini drawing of Zayne stares back at you. You open the pouch, sifting through your small collection of extras before plucking one out of Rafayel.

“Just one.”

He takes the laminated paper from your hand and you really do turn this time if only to gauge his reaction to your drawing of him. His was the one you were most proud of.

He studies the photocard before a smile erupts on his face. “Cute,” he looks away to look at you and you hope you don’t look too giddy at his reaction, “What program do you use?”

“Clip studio.”

“The brushes?”

“I just use the standard ones…” You haven’t invested in buying others.

He hums. “Can I keep this?”

“Yeah! Of course.”

“Thank you,” he places the little paper on his nightstand. “Okay, that’s all.”

You blink. “Hm?”

“You can go home now.”

You blanch and you can’t stop yourself from blurting your next set of words. “That’s all?”

Rafayel gives you a knowing look, his smile bordering on a smirk. “What were you expecting?”

Those words reverberate in your head. You’ve been nervous, anxious, up until this point. There really is only one thing to expect when asked to meet someone in their room. He hadn’t interacted with you himself, having someone like Thomas do all the work until you showed up here. And now he’s stringing you along like you’re stupid.

You’re a fan following the lead of your idol blindly.

It hits you right then and there. He may be your idol, but he’s also just a man. He’s messing with you, playing with you knowing that someone like you would jump at an opportunity like this. And now he denies your presumptions. You huff, that one expression annoying you enough to grab your bag off the bed, slinging it back over your shoulder with finality.

“Nothing. If that was it, I’ll leave you alone. It was nice meeting you.” You make your way towards the door, missing the way he watches you in amusement. Perhaps he didn’t expect anger of all things, an unexpected reaction towards someone you hold on a pedestal. He catches your wrist the same time you’re grabbing the doorknob, eliciting a gasp out of you.

“It’s not nice to lie.”

You roll your eyes away from view before addressing him with your back turned towards him. Admittedly, you’re surprised he even stopped you. If anything, you’re doing him a favor by initiating the end result of the NDA early. “Don’t get into your head about it.”

“I don’t think I am if it’s obvious.”

“If it’s so obvious, why can’t you say it?,” you challenge him, turning around to lift your chin. Ever a man, you can feel his ego boost at the implication that you wanted him in some way or form. It should be obvious anyway, you are his fan.

He looks at you with pleasant surprise. He’s having fun.

“You wanted to fuck.”

You scowl past the heat that blooms on your cheeks. “When someone asks to meet them at their hotel in the middle of the night, yeah, I did expect something along those lines,” you defend yourself.

“Hm,” he gauges the displeasure on your face, “That’s dangerous.”

“I could always scream for help if you touched me in a way I didn’t like.”

He crosses his arms, still close enough where you can’t escape but he no longer touches you. He gauges your face, your body language. You’re still angled half away from him, not facing him directly but not with your back towards him. You’re on guard, ready to fight or run to defend yourself should Rafayel anger you any more. It’s surprising, really, the way you don’t fall on your knees for him. It’s a bit of a stereotype. But he’s glad to see not all of his admirers follow him like sheep. “Has your perception of me changed?”

You raise your eyebrows, remembering then that you’re arguing with Rafayel, the idol. You know him in a way that he doesn’t about you. But he has an image projected onto him that he isn’t channeling to you at this very moment. And to him, you’re just a fan. But you’ve watched countless videos of him, listened to his music, studied him more intimately as an artist.

You lean your head back against the door, taking in the man you’ve only seen through screens until today. His gaze is predatory as he looks down at you.

“Not really, you’ve always come off as a wolf in sheep's clothing.” That’s what you liked about him, the mystery. He raises his eyebrows. “But you always gave me the impression of being a good boy anyway.”

His chest heaves. “A good boy? Really?” He leans in with a smile and you realize then that he’s enjoying the banter.

You nod, not backing down no matter how much the man tries to intimidate you. He’s fishing for compliments and you oblige him if only to mess with him further. Two can play at this game. “Your performance was amazing tonight.”

“What was amazing about it?”

“Your voice. Your dancing. The energy you exude. Your charisma and stage presence. It’s alluring.”

His smile disappears the more and more you speak, looking almost flustered if you’d believe it. He regards you for a second before he gulps.

“I can perform even better.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at the way he crowds you against the door and you can’t help but look down at the obvious way his erection strains against his pants.

“I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“I changed my mind,” he studies your face, the red of your ears and the furrow of your brows, “Unless you want to leave?”

You smirk at him. “See? A good boy.”

His lips part at your insistence. “I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t like.”

“How sweet.” You knew this. You’ve watched so many clips of him. You’re just surprised to see how intimidating he could be when he wanted to. He usually came off as bubbly and hyper-energetic during performances and in videos.

“You were trying to scare me just before,” you accuse him and the act he’s been putting on.

“In all honesty,” he tilts his head, “A fan accepting to meet their idol at their room? That’s a call for disaster.” He pushes back at your sentiment.

You cross your arms, not appreciating the judge of your character. “You had them pull me backstage first.”

“I did.”

“I don’t think it’s fair for you to judge me for accepting. You’re just as weird for picking a fan to bed anyway. The power dynamic is egregious.”

His smile only widens and you realize you’re only feeding into his fun by arguing. “Who says I planned to bed you?”

“You had me sign an NDA!”

He shrugs. “You can never be too safe.”

You huff. What a weird guy. “So,” you look down at his erection before meeting his eye deliberately, “What do you want?”

He answers by lifting a hand and he hovers over your hip, meeting your eye in silent question. You don’t nod, but you don’t stop him, a silent sign of consent and he grabs your hip, pulling you close enough to feel his erection press against your front.

“You’re fun,” he continues his false persona of confidence and suave, one you’ve seen through almost immediately and have been playing into, “We could play out that fantasy of yours.”

“My fantasy,” you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him that it’s him who picked you out of the crowd first.

He grips your hip tighter, leaning in closer to meet you face to face. The blush on your cheeks feel like they’re never going to fade away. What a handsome man.

“You’re cute,” he says more genuinely as his eyes flit around your face, making your cheeks burn even brighter, “I saw you jumping around. Right at the front.”

You nearly choke, looking away and breaking out of your act. He’s noticed you more than once it seems. How… embarrassing?

Rafayel snorts at your reaction, he too also realizing that you’ve been putting on a false act of confidence. “Let’s lay down some rules.”

You meet his gaze again before nodding. He lifts a finger with his other hand.

“First: no kissing.”

You raise your eyebrows. It’s not the first rule you expected but he’s always claimed to be a romantic in his interviews. You suppose that’s something you can check off as a for sure truth. You’re just a hookup. No kissing.

You nod. He lifts up a second finger.

“Second: no marks.”

This one makes more sense. He’s an idol. Evidence of hooking up would do horrible for his reputation. You’ve seen other idols receive backlash in the past for evidence of a significant other or hookup, as dumb as it may seem. You don’t wish that on Rafayel.

He lifts a third finger.

“Last: we’re strangers after this.”

This was reiterated in the NDA. He’s also come off as a very private person. There’s little detail about his personal life outside of what he claims himself in variety shows and interviews. You don’t know how much of what he says is true, but that isn’t for fans to speculate. He doesn’t want you to think you know him after this. Got it.

“Got it.”

He studies you some more before he adds a fourth finger.

“Actually, one more.” You tilt your head in confusion. “If at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me.”

What a gentleman. You smile at him more genuinely. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He lifts you then, his hands gripping under your thighs in a way where could do nothing but wrap your legs around his waist. You gasp with it and you drop your bag on the floor to wrap your arms around him. Your heart is pounding nonstop. You can’t believe this is happening.

He walks you to the bed, dropping you with a bounce. He crawls over you and freezes at the sight of you sprawled out beneath him.

“Hey, what’s your name?,” he looks at you with wide eyes. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the question, the absurdity of the situation really hitting you right then and there. You’ve known him for years. He doesn’t know you at all. He looks sheepish at the sight of your laughter and you give him your name. He repeats it to make sure he heard you right and you nod. “Sorry, my manners are horrible.”

He seems awkward on top of you, like he doesn’t know what to do next. He twiddles with the end of your short dress with his fingers. “Cute dress.”

You give him a weird look. “Thanks?” It was just a white, frilly one. The concept of the latest comeback had been underwater themed. The skirt of your dress was poofy to give off a jellyfish look.

You blink at him when he doesn’t move past hovering over you. But there’s one thing you do notice even within the dim lighting of his room: his ears have darkened quite a bit, a dark red.

“You’re all talk,” you play that part of confidence again and his eyes widen. “You’re nervous.”

He scowls at you in a way that tells you you’re right. His hand slips under your dress then to grip your thigh, spreading your legs so that he could settle between them. He leans into your face and your facade breaks at the proximity.

“Tell me then, what would you like me to do?”

He’s asking you? If anything, you thought he would mostly take control of the situation.

He moves his right hand when you don’t answer him fast enough. His fingertips skim up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before they land on your collarbones.

“I can touch you here,” his fingers trail down, brushing against your breast over your dress. He looks you in the eye, waiting for any sign of discomfort before he continues. “Or,” his other hand, still on your thigh, trails up between your legs and you can’t help them from twitching when his fingertips just barely brush against the cloth of your panties. “Here?,” he gives you a knowing smile at your reaction.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

He removes his hands to pluck at the sleeves of your dress. “Should we get these off?” He looks at you with a more honest look again despite the teasing lilt to his voice. He’s genuinely asking if you’re comfortable undressing or not.

You sit up, reaching behind you to try unzipping the back of your dress but you struggle.

“Let me,” Rafayel offers to help and you drop your hands only to feel your face explode at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you to help unzip the back of your dress. The fabric loosens around you when he’s done and he helps you slide the garment up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

You settle onto the pillows again and he gulps at the sight of you almost nude beneath him.

“Nervous still?,” you tease if only to block out the voices telling you how bizarre it is that your bias sits above you looking at your bare breasts now.

Rafayel frowns and you drop the act. “The rules go both ways,” you start at the sight of his hesitation, “If at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me.”

Rafayel looks genuinely surprised at the sentiment and he smiles, huffing a small laugh. He settles a hand atop one of your breasts and you gasp.

“That’s sweet.” His thumb brushes against your nipple and you release that breath. And then his hand trails over your stomach and down to settle over your panties. “This is where you want me, no?”

You gulp. “Yes.”

He seems just as nervous, gulping as he trails those fingers further down and right over that damp spot. There’s no more hiding just how aroused you are at the situation, no matter how nervewracking it is.

He presses down at the spot and you twitch.

“You better hurry,” you speak up, your voice quiet within the tense atmosphere. Rafayel blinks at you cluelessly. “Isn’t tomorrow day two for Linkon?”

It feels funny reminding him of his own schedule, another reminder at how much more you know about him than he does of you. But you remember debating going to day one or day two yourself, deciding on the former. You don’t want to be the reason he gets less sleep for his performance tomorrow. He’s still wearing the black, bedazzled dress shirt from the last set of today’s show. He’s clearly already running short on time.

He clicks his tongue and his fingers rub at you through your panties more assertively, making you twitch more. “I’ll just have to make sure you’re satisfied sooner.”

His fingers hook within the elastic of your panties and he pulls down, leaving you fully nude while he stays completely dressed. It’s not fair, but who are you to ask him to undress?

“Tell me,” his fingers skim over the slick of your folds, “What do you like?”

He asks you what you want again and you’re starting to get the sense that he truly means for you to tell him, ready to please. You inhale and exhale, willing yourself to get over your anxiety over the situation. You’re leaking profusely already without any sort of stimulation yet, admittedly, aroused at the sight of your fantasies playing out right in front of you. Rafayel read you spot on.

And so you sit up, settling your hands on Rafayel’s shoulders to push him down. He follows your lead willingly, sliding down the bedsheets of the large bed until he’s face to face with your slick center. Your chest is heaving, seeing him there and he looks at you with just as red cheeks as your own. His hands grip the insides of your thighs spreading you even further and you’re surprised you haven’t died on the spot.

“Here?,” Rafayel’s breath fans over your sex and you shudder. You settle on your elbows, admiring the view. You nod and watch as he leans further and further in until the flat of his tongue runs over the expanse of your folds, starting from your entrance and all the way up. You gasp and he watches your reaction much the same. The eye contact is unbearable, but you can’t look away. He repeats the gesture and you’re getting antsy, knowing that the night must end soon and you still have yet to reach your end, to feel that earth-shattering pleasure you so crave now with this extended tension. And so you sit up further, settling your hand on the back of Rafayel’s head to guide him further up until his tongue settles over your throbbing clit and your legs twitch violently.

Rafayel’s eyes widen with your reaction and his breath shudders. His left hand travels down from your thigh to your folds, spreading you open to suckle on your clit, a more targeted, deliberate action and you whimper.

That small sound from your throat makes something in him snap and he licks and sucks on your clit with more vigor. You fall back on the bed, grasping the bedsheets when you could no longer find the strength to watch. His hands hold your legs open when your thighs instinctively try to close at the overwhelming pleasure and you could do nothing but lay there and accept the feel of his slick tongue.

You slap a hand over your mouth when the first moan escapes your lips, something louder and fuller than a whine, and you feel Rafayel leave your sensitive clit to lean up and pull your wrist away.

“Don’t,” he sounds out of breath and his fingers replace where his tongue just was, rubbing and playing with your clit. You cry out in pleasure and he leans his head against your thigh, watching the way you leak. One hand holding your wrist down while the other plays with you. “You sound so pretty.”

That makes you want to cover up even more and you grit your teeth. But your thighs are shaking and you feel oh, so empty. You grab his hair with your free hand, making his eyes widen, before you shove his flushed face back to your cunt. He moans into it, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure up your spine before he sucks at you again. Ah, but it’s not where you want him this time and you push him further down to the source of your wetness. He looks up at you through his lashes as he slips his tongue into you and you cry out once more.

“So good,” you whimper at the feel of that wet appendage searching within you and Rafayel moans.

“Good?”

“Mhm,” you worry your bottom lip and twitch at the feeling of Rafayel’s tongue entering you again, moving against your walls wherever he could reach. And then his fingers ghost over your clit and you feel like you may reach your end soon.

Your cry is louder this time around as he stimulates both your clit and hole and you choke at the sound of someone pounding on the wall above the bedframe.

You and Rafayel freeze and you feel as if a bucket of ice water has been thrown over you. You forgot that not only does Rafayel sleep here, but so do all of his other members. You cover your face in embarrassment, rolling over and staying incredibly still as if it would help whoever’s on the other side forget that you’re there. You don’t even want to pause and think about who it could be. The idea of your favorite group knowing you’re there to fuck one of their members is just too humiliating.

They don’t bang on the wall again and you’re broken out of your thoughts when Rafayel grabs your ankle, pulling you back and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“Ignore them,” he breathes, planting a kiss on your clit. He sucks you into his mouth, alternating between breathy kisses and running his tongue over you. Sighs escape your lips in waves, doing your best to not cry your pleasure louder than that. Your hands find their way into his hair without thought, unable to help yourself from touching and pulling him closer. He doesn’t seem to mind if his groans into your cunt are any indication.

“We should finish soon,” you whisper, shuddering at the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your hole.

He hums against you, making your thighs twitch. “What a shame. I’m having fun hearing you cry for me.”

He slides a finger in you and you whimper but embarrassingly spread your legs wider, encouraging him to do more.

“You need to go to bed soon,” you manage to get out over the keen that wants to rip out of you when he slides another finger inside. He releases your clit, but his gaze is transfixed over his fingers sliding in and out, growing more and more slick with every thrust. You’re on your elbows, watching the almost entranced look on his face.

“Rafayel,” you call out his name, worried he didn’t hear you. He looks up to meet your gaze, somehow surprised to hear his name coming from your lips.

“Hm?,” he asks dumbly.

“You need to go to bed soon, we need to end this.” He’s still thrusting those fingers.

“And you don’t?,” he teases, or at least he tries to. His voice is hushed, sounding almost drunk.

“I’m not the one who needs to sing and dance for hours on end tomorrow,” you manage to respond.

“Worried about me?”

It’s a silly question too. Of course you are.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, pulling the collar of his dress shirt to pull him up and maneuver him between your legs. “C’mon, I need you.”

He nearly chokes at your words and his fingers plunge deeper in you, ripping a moan out of you before you could help it.

“Ah,” he rests his head on your shoulder, “So pretty.” He thumbs at your clit with the same hand, pushing those fingers in as far as he could.

“Please,” you’re begging at this point. You need that stretch, to be pounded into the sheets and reach that climax. You grab his wrist, pulling his hand away to get him to stop teasing you. It feels like you constantly need to guide him through your pleasure.

He nearly falls on top of you when you pull his hand away from your sex when you suddenly gasp and catch him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait!”

He looks at you in question, the tent in his pants so close to meeting your messy cunt.

“Your pants! We can’t get them dirty!”

He gives you a funny look. “What?”

“Don’t you need to wear these for the concert tomorrow?”

The astonished look on his face is almost comical and he hangs his head low, his hair covering his expression following after before you feel him shaking with laughter. His laugh gets louder by the second and you feel your face getting warmer at the strange scenario.

He rises from his laughter, meeting your flustered expression with his amused one. He looks much more relaxed now compared to the beginning of this whole exchange, no longer putting on a facade.

“You’re funny, but you’re right.”

He rises on his knees, unbuckling his belt above you and you gulp at the sight, making sure to burn the vision into your memory. He removes his pants, leaving him in just his dress shirt and briefs. He crawls back over you, grabbing your left thigh to hold you open just as he settles between your legs fully. He’s slow with it, bordering on hesitant. But then he settles and you could feel the heavy weight of his cock through the fabric of his underwear and you’re reeling. You want it so bad.

He sighs at the feel of your wetness seeping through his underwear and then he stops with revelation.

“I don’t have a condom.”

You stiffen beneath him, something he doesn’t miss as he gauges your reaction. How could he not have a condom? Talk about unprepared aside from having the NDA ready.

“Uh…,” you don’t know what to say in response.

He gulps. “We could stop here if you’d like.”

His cock is straining painfully through his briefs and you could spot the small drop where he leaks through, neglected until now. You too haven’t reached your end and you’re nearly shaking with how much you’re built up. Your breathing is heavy and your arousal only heightens at the flush on Rafayel’s cheeks, unable to deny how affected he is by everything as well.

You hook a leg over his hips, pushing him further into you as you grind your hips up, feeling the length of him through his briefs. He chokes at the feeling the same time you hum in pleasure.

“We don’t have to go all the way but please,” you whimper, grinding up into his clothed cock again, “Don’t leave me hanging.”

His hands settle on your waist and you’re sure you could feel him trembling, before he grinds down into you as he tests the waters for himself. The head of his cock brushes against your clit and you swear you see stars. You let out a soft gasp and he does it again and again and again if only to hear more of those sounds. His head lands on your shoulder, panting against your skin as he ruts against you and you throw your arms over his shoulders for something to hold onto. Those hands on your waist move back to settle beneath you, helping you grind up into him and he groans into your ear. It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

You both forget that he could take off those briefs, that small bit of fabric separating you and preventing him from feeling the wetness and warmth radiating from your core. But he gets lost in his pleasure fast, chasing his release and urging you to cry for him as he forgets all else. He’s addicted to the sound. You’re grasping at each other with an immature amount of desperation, rutting against one another with no other thought in mind.

Suddenly your perspective is changing, Rafayel rolling off you to settle against the headboard of the bed as he maneuvers you in his lap.

“I wanna watch,” he murmurs, pulling your hips closer so that the hardness of his length settles right between the slick of your cunt. The cloth of his briefs are damp with your wetness, the texture of it sending shivers down your spine when you grind your clit into it.

He grabs your hips, helping you move against him.

“Keep going,” he pants, “It feels so good.”

You keep grinding into him, unable to stop yourself from chasing that overwhelming pleasure, and you hide your face in his neck, too far gone to be worried about touching your favorite idol. So much for him watching. You’re clinging onto him. The moans spill from your lips nonstop, your hips trying to get closer and closer to him as if he’ll somehow slip in knowing that he can’t. You feel empty, needy and wanting. The hardness of his cock beneath you feels delicious. It leaks and leaks, teased by you and you teased by it. A mixture of your arousal soaking through the piece of fabric that separates you two. He catches sometimes, the head of his cock getting caught at your entrance before it slips past when you move back down. It’s torturous. Your hands are clutching the back of his shirt and you’re sure it’ll end up wrinkled by your efforts.

And he’s just as loud. You can tell he’s embarrassed by it. He’s taken on to holding you and you can feel his lips on the skin of your shoulder where he tries to muffle the sounds, his lips parting in a whine, a keen, a moan. It only spurs you on further, the sounds of his pleasure like music to your ears. His cock twitches against you, fighting against the constraints of his briefs. Choked sounds escape him when it feels like he could slip in only to be stopped by the fabric of his underwear and the combined effort of your hips. The soaked through fabric of his underwear teases him with what could be.

But you two can only imagine.

And then there’s a knock at the door. You both ignore it at first, a silent consensus to keep going, but then they knock again.

“What are you doing in there?”

You hear someone bark on the other side. Caleb? Sylus? You don’t know but you stop moving and you shut your mouth, slumping against Rafayel in defeat.

He doesn’t share the same sentiment though, grabbing your hips to move you along the length of him still.

“I’m busy!,” he barks, ignoring them further after. His arm reaches between you two to thumb at your clit and your hips buck violently.

“Oh my god,” you press your face further into his shoulder, trying to stay quiet but struggling to do so.

“C’mon,” he pauses where he would’ve kissed your shoulder, stopping himself just before only to lean back down to lave at your nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

You gasp and hug his head against you, your hips chasing that feeling of sweet release against his cock and fingers. He pushes you against him with more force and then it’s over for you. You shake through it, holding Rafayel closer to your body as you ride that wave. He removes his arm from between you, hugging you just as hard as he groans at the feeling. You feel his hips buck beneath you and then there’s nothing but the sounds of your combined breathing in the room.

It takes a moment for you to calm down, but you release him from your hold when you come to. You take the chance to glance down, noticing the darkened black of his briefs with your orgasm and the milky white that seeps through, his own cum making a mess of him. Some of it’s gotten onto the ends of his dress shirt and you look at him with alarm.

He’s already looking at you when you make eye contact, his brows furrowed and his lips parted in a pant.

You lift his shirt away from his briefs in an attempt to help. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s—,” he swallows, “It’s fine, that’s all me.”

You gulp, feeling awkward all over again now that the deed’s done. You’re still seated in his lap and his hands have moved to linger on your waist. You glance at the clock at his nightstand, alarmed to find it’s already reached around two in the morning. No wonder the others were getting annoyed at the noise.

“I should—,” you swing your leg over, removing yourself from his lap to seat yourself at the end of the bed. “I should go now, it’s getting late.”

“Ah,” Rafayel coughs into his hand, “Yeah.”

You stand from the bed, stumbling a little, and you grimace at the feeling of slickness between your legs.

“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?,” you look back at Rafayel, who has his arm outstretched before he retreats it just as quickly, as you lean down to pick up your dress.

Rafayel hasn’t stopped looking at you with those wide eyes and flushed cheeks, looking more taken aback at what’s just happened than you are. You’re admittedly flustered as hell, though. You just came in the lap of your favorite idol. But at least you have half a mind to get out of his hair.

“Go ahead.”

You nod, making your way to the restroom to wipe yourself up and redress. You’re out and ready to leave pretty fast, picking up the bag you dropped by the door in the process, making sure you don’t leave anything behind. You feel out of it. It’s going to be so weird watching videos and looking at pictures of Rafayel from now on. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Rafayel’s changed into sweats and a tshirt by the time you’ve got your shoes back on, his hair raked back down from how it was mused, and you clutch your bag by your side.

“I’ll get going now.”

Rafayel turns around from where he’s seated at the far end of his bed. “Let me make sure Thomas is still awake.”

“Ah—okay.”

It’s tense in the room. Nothing but the sound of Rafayel’s typing.

You shuffle on your feet, not knowing if you should say anything. It all ended so abruptly.

“Was…,” Rafayel starts, breaking the silence and you give him your full attention. “Was it good?” He asks this with his back still turned towards you. He’s staring intently at his phone but you can see the red of his ear.

“I mean—I did ruin your underwear.”

Rafayel snorts. “You did.”

“I’m sorry?,” you supply. Maybe that’s what he was trying to get at?

He ignores your apology, continuing to type on his phone.

“Was it good for you?,” you throw his question back at him.

His shoulders hitch and then he nods.

“That’s good,” you readjust the bag on your shoulder, “You did a good job.”

He turns to look at you, his eyes wide.

“You can count my fantasies: fulfilled,” you explain further in an attempt to joke.

Rafayel laughs a little before looking down at the notification on his phone.

“Thomas secured a ride for you, let me see you out.” He stands, sliding some slippers onto his feet before walking you to the door.

What do you say at this point? Once you leave, you’re supposed to pretend this whole exchange never happened. You never met Rafayel. Never been to his room. Never engaged in any sort of sexual activity. You’re back to being his fan and nothing more. How strange.

Rafayel walks past you, opening the door before peeking his head out to look left and right, making sure no one’s around to see you leave. Not even his members.

“Okay, the coast is clear.” He turns around to look at you and you freeze. It’s time to say goodbye and you’re struggling to find a way to say it in the most normal way possible, as if this man didn’t just see you nude and squirming not long ago.

You shuffle on your feet. “Good luck tomorrow.”

He nods, seemingly not knowing what to say either. “Thanks.”

You hold a hand out and he gives you a funny look before slipping his hand in yours. You shake his hand once, giving him a polite smile.

“Nice meeting you, stranger.”

You pull away, giving him a short bow for good measure before you’re walking past him and out the door.

 

It’s one thing to rut against your favorite idol's cock the night before, but to see the effects of it on him the next day is another thing.

You’re not there. You only had tickets to see EVOL the first day but you see the posts online.

rafayel seemed tired at soundcheck today

He wasn’t as energetic as usual! I wonder if he got bad sleep.

He yawned an awful lot. I think you’re right.

i hope he’s okay for the concert tonight!

And then after. Pictures emerged of him wearing a different dress shirt than the one he wore for day one while everyone else wore the same outfits. Everyone assumed it to be some sort of wardrobe malfunction, the reason why he needed to wear a different shirt than the others but you know the truth. You wonder how he explained that to his stylists.

You’re just glad his voice still seemed to be intact. It seems no one suspects a thing.

Your cheeks burn at the memory of what happened between you two. It’s something for you to know and you only.

You shut your laptop, not wanting to see him any longer. You take a deep breath. You could get past this. Soon enough, this will all be a distant memory. Rafayel will forget you and you will really be nothing more than a fan. And maybe even you’ll forget to an extent where this will all seem like something you made up in your head. You can’t wait for the day to come because right now you want nothing more than to smother your burning cheeks into the sheets of your bed.

Notes:

something a little more casual (PORN) for me to write with how tense my abysswalker fic makes me... can a girl treat herself to a little bit of fun and whimsy. this the most y/n shit ever but the whole game is y/n so. but yeah just something fun for me to write and update once in a while, but "I'll See You There Tomorrow" is my top priority so updates for this may be slow (i do have ch 2 already mostly written bc i was planning on finishing this pretty quick to release all at once. but my laptop just killed itself and i have other projects to work on so now everyone gets to suffer in suspense) ((planning to make this fic pretty short too, nothing like how long isytt is))

thank u to the lovely reni (@qiyuchuu) on twt for helping me figure out their idol group and fandom name rq <3 u can find me on twt too @lyechii bwehe

+ all the other boys are part of EVOL but like... theyre not integral parts of the story bc i feel bad when they're there and they're not the love interest lmao so do not expect much interaction

Chapter 2: Retry

Summary:

A repeat of that first night but with some fine-tuning.

Notes:

long chapter .. bc i can never be casual sighh habits die hard

Everything makes more sense when you watch the new episode posted to EVOL’s channel a few weeks later.

It was a challenge. To go out in disguise before the concert started and interact with fans without getting caught.

You see yourself on the screen, fanning out the fanmade photocards in your hands facedown.

“It’s a gacha system!,” you explain to who you thought to be a shy fanboy, “You never know who you’re going to get.”

You gesture to—who you now know is actually Rafayel—urging him to pick a card from your hands.

The camera zooms into Rafayel’s face from a distance, catching the way he adjusts the disposable mask on his face. He picks a random card from your stash and flips it around.

“Ooh, Xavier. Is he your bias?,” you ask.

“No,” Rafayel responds, his voice deeper than his usual timbre. He studies the photocard longer before he speaks up again. “Did you draw this?”

You nod. “Yep.”

“Can I have another?”

“Absolutely not,” you watch yourself shove all the photocards back into that clear pouch, your back to the camera, “Gacha is gacha.”

His shoulders slump and the rim of his hat covers more of his face. “Well—This is really good anyway.”

“Thanks!,” you respond kindly to the compliment, “Better luck next time getting your bias. Have fun at the concert!”

You watch yourself cut the conversation short, not knowing you were speaking to Rafayel of all people. He watches you leave before he turns towards the camera, waving that drawing of Xavier in his hands.

You pause the video and lean back on your chair.

Your mind feels blank and in overdrive all at once. Flashes of memory flit through your mind, replaying the interaction with Rafayel before you ended up in his bed. He’d asked to see what was in your bag, got you to show him your freebies, before asking for one of himself and keeping it.

Ah… It was all deliberate.

You can’t help but cover your face, feeling embarrassed at where the night led. It seems he really did intend for you to leave after that small exchange at the beginning. You just hope you didn’t pressure him into where things ended.

It all feels so obvious now, too, considering he’d recently been posting photos to his social media of recent art he’d been working on on the side. Rare updates on Rafayel’s end, something he tends not to do for months on end. They were usually pictures of his tablet, stylus in hand to show he wasn’t yet finished. He asked you what program you used. He probably did genuinely like what you did, wanting to know what you did to apply to himself.

That also explains the lack of prepared condom. He did not intend to sleep with you one bit.

You release yourself, fanning your face. It’s fine. You probably won’t see him again. He said he enjoyed the night anyway. You feel a bit better at that.

EVOL are still touring too. Linkon had been their first stop before traveling elsewhere. Months will pass before the tour ends and he will have seen many fans at that point. There's a small chance he’ll even remember you. You wonder how many people he’s done this with, invited fans for private conversations or even to sleep with. You feel like you’ve unlocked a little bit of Rafayel lore unbeknownst to most LOVEs.

 

Six months pass between that night and now. Looking at Rafayel through screens no longer feels like an arduous ordeal. Your cheeks don’t tinge a brighter pink than the usual at seeing his visual and the activities of that night fade into a distant memory, only something for you to visualize in your head on especially needy nights. But even then, there really isn’t much to work from.

It seems as though all has returned to normal and you’re back to celebrating the end of a successful tour on EVOL’s end as a fan.

You’re similarly back to your usual routine. Drawing and painting comes back to you in waves. Some weeks you’re motivated and inspired. And some weeks you’re not, allowing yourself to pull back and wait for that drive and motivation to hit you once more.

You linger in that low today, your tablet sitting patiently on your desk for when you feel ready again. You usually take the time to indulge yourself in whatever catches your interest. Whether it be video games, movies, dramas, visiting rotating galleries, shopping. You’re not too hard on yourself, learning from experience to allow yourself the space to engage in other forms of stimulation.

Days like this are usually slow and you roll into it, letting the waves take you wherever. Today, you end up at one of the local galleries within Linkon. The exhibition there is set to rotate out within the next week. It’s the perfect time to visit and so you do.

It’s quiet within the space. The walls are a stark white compared to the splashes of color on canvases, bright and playful. You take your time with your visit, allowing yourself to study each and every piece to your liking before you move on. There’s nothing else on your itinerary for the day and so you linger.

You’re in such a state of relaxation, the sudden jump of your heart at the sight of wavy, purple hair within the next room almost makes you choke.

You’re quick to turn your attention to the nearest piece, pretending as if you didn’t see him. You knew EVOL were back from their tour. But you’ve never run into one of the members a single time your whole time living here. It’s just your luck that you run into him of all people and now.

A horrible decision to visit the gallery today it seems.

Your eyes dart around the piece in front of you, trying to dissect the relation of colors to one another in an attempt to distract yourself. Rafayel likely doesn’t remember. It’s been months and you’re wearing clothes much more casual compared to what he’d seen you in that night. The stranger you act, the more noticeable you’ll come off.

So you manage to calm yourself, rationalizing the situation.

You don’t know Rafayel. You’ve never met.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed. You don’t dare look behind you to check, but you hear the sounds of footsteps walking away and into the next room. You release that breath you’ve been holding.

The gallery is quite big and he seems to have been a little ahead of you and you count on the idea that he’ll probably leave before you finish. And so you relax, perhaps even move a little slower through the collection of artwork just to be safe.

But you accidentally let your guard down.

“Excuse me.”

Your shoulders hitch at the voice behind you. You were too engrossed in the piece in front of you, the size of it reaching the floor to the ceiling.

But you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“I believe you dropped this.”

You turn around with no choice, face to face with none other than Rafayel. You don’t let your panic show. You’re not supposed to know him.

He’s wearing casual clothing, much like you, a simple pair of pants, shirt, and a cardigan over top. He doesn’t seem to regard you with familiarity, a polite smile on his face.

It’s not until you look down at what’s in his hand that you remember he’s an incredible actor.

Your photocard sits between his fingers, the one of Xavier. It’s something you definitely couldn’t have dropped. He does remember and he’s playing with you.

You take it from him with as little reaction you could muster aside from false gratitude.

“Oh, thanks,” you manage, surprising yourself with your level of calm. You give him a short bow as thanks before turning back to the piece in front of you, hoping he’ll leave you alone. But he doesn’t. He steps to stand beside you, looking at the same piece with his arms crossed in contemplation.

His presence is suffocating. It feels as though you’re stuck in place by his being there and the silent realization that you both have caught each other in the same space. You just hope he doesn’t think you followed him here somehow.

“I hate this artist.”

You whip your head in his direction, genuinely affronted by the bold claim.

“What? Why?”

He doesn’t look at you, studying the large piece in front of you with indifference.

“Looks uninspired. Just a bunch of color on canvas.”

“I assumed the color was the delivery of their inspiration, not the subject. What they’re inspired by, though, I guess is up for interpretation. Only the artist knows.”

He shrugs. “If it's the color doing the work for them, the least they could do is make it fun to look at. The shapes all seem kinda random.”

“I’ll give you that. But I do enjoy the color choices. You just seem like a harsh critic.”

“Are you an artist or something?,” he turns away from the canvas, looking down at you.

You blink at him. He’s pretending he doesn’t know you either. He may be the strangest idol you’ve ever heard of, approaching fans in public out of his own volition. And yet he remains your favorite of them all.

“I am. And you?”

He gives you an innocent smile, seemingly pleased at the way you play along. “You could say that.”

You nod, not bothering to ask him to elaborate on that. “Well,” you wave the photocard at him, “Thanks for this. Nice chatting.”

You cut off the interaction yourself and you step away, ready to leave the gallery in its entirety. Forget about all the other rooms.

You’re in the midst of walking away as you look at the photocard in your hand, wondering why Rafayel had it on him in the first place, when you flip it around and sputter at what you find on the backside. There’s a number sprawled on the back, messy and looking rushed by how the numbers lead into each other.

You stop in your tracks, looking back at Rafayel to find him still looking at you. He gives you a questioning stare, tilting his head in confusion. But he acts, you’re sure of it.

You’re out of that room quickly after, walking fast and back outside to make your way home.

 

That photocard sits on your desk for about a week before you’re picking it up to study again. The numbers are barely legible on the back, but it’s enough for you to make out without worrying you’ll get it wrong. You’ve been wracking your brain about it for days now, wondering whether Rafayel really gave you his number or not. He definitely shouldn’t have if that’s the case. Your NDA with him specifically stated that you’re not to keep this up, to think that you know him.

But if he gave you his number himself, it’s not you breaking any rules, is it? He could be testing you, waiting to see if you’re desperate enough to text that number for a response. It has been a week though, if it really is him then you’ve ghosted him for quite some time.

You plop onto your bed face down, the beginnings of a headache forming. You have no one to ask about this. You can’t ask anyone about this. It’s just you and your own overthinking mind.

You peek your head out to stare at the photocard in your hand again, burning holes into the numbers before deciding that you have nothing to lose anyway. If Rafayel really is testing you, then you suppose this is the end of your relationship with him for real now. It would’ve, should’ve, been that night, but you’re given another chance to test those boundaries. If you make the wrong move, then you get confirmation that he was only playing with you and you two break off ties. Strangers once more. If he really intends for you to reach out…

You shudder a breath, nervous just like the night of the concert. He remembered you, sought you out when he recognized you in public, that had to amount to something even if it is to play his little game of stringing you along.

With a spurt of energy, you sit up on your bed, typing the numbers into your phone to text before you lose that confidence.

hey. sorry for the late response, i know it’s been a while

You pretty much throw your phone into your pillows after hitting send, jumping off your bed to preoccupy yourself with other things should you puke with humiliation.

You only get to walk through the doorframe of your room before you hear your phone ding with a new notification. You freeze in place, shocked and terrified at how quickly you received a response. You turn on your heel, stalking up to your phone like it could reach out and bite you. Your phone is face down on the bed and you steel yourself before picking it up and turning it around.

Please tell me this is who I think this is.

You blink at the text and the text with your fanart user following after.

yes, that’s me

Can I get some sort of proof?

You frown before looking around your room for something to prove that it’s you. Your eyes settle on the photocard with Rafayel’s handwriting sprawled on it, your user printed onto the same side of that card, and you’re picking it up from the sheets to snap a picture and send before long.

Okay… yeah. This is Rafayel’s manager, Thomas.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed at the text that rolls through, relief washing over you in waves. It’s not Rafayel. You knew it wouldn’t make sense for Rafayel to give you his number and you’re proven right. An idol and a fan should never be in close contact with one another.

You take in a deep breath to calm your nerves. He probably wants a repeat of the night before. He didn’t give you a fake number to embarrass you. If you’re in contact with Thomas, this interaction must follow the same parameters of that first night when you signed the NDA.

sorry to bother you…

It’s fine, I guess.
Rafayel told me to expect a message.
I don’t suppose you’re free within the next two days?

The next two days. EVOL must have something scheduled later within the week, set to leave Linkon soon. You really pushed your luck waiting this long.

i should be free

It’s how you end up in front of a random hotel the next day. A part of you worries about how suspicious this all feels. No matter how much you also wish for a repeat of that night, you can’t help but think you’re walking into something dangerous.

There’s no one to greet you out front like last time. No one to guide you to a room like last time. Only that room number Thomas had texted you the morning of once he had confirmation. Knowing that Rafayel himself had dropped the number for you is the only validation you have to convince yourself you’re not about to get murdered.

You knock on that door, nervous and with your hand stuffed into your purse just in case it wasn’t Rafayel who opened the door.

But then that door swings open faster than you anticipated and you’re face to face with none other than the face of the man who plagued your fantasies and more since that first night.

You sigh with relief at the sight of him and remove your hand from within your purse, to which Rafayel raises an eyebrow.

“Hey,” you greet him, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. A difficult task despite having been in this situation before. But he’s still an idol and you’re still a fan. Months have passed and it feels like you’re back at square one with him. Being face to face with him is no less bizarre.

“Hey,” he mimics you before stepping aside to let you in. You do as requested, not wanting to expose his location to others should there be others on the same floor as him.

You move to seat yourself on the edge of the bed this time, gripping your bag to your side for comfort. You watch as Rafayel closes the door behind him and your breath hitches when he turns to look at you, but there’s a surprisingly friendly smile on his face.

“Long time no see,” he tries breaking the ice with a joke, knowing that you both ran into each other about a week ago. But you don’t play along.

“It has been a couple of months,” you smooth down the fabric of your pants, playing innocent.

“I meant at the gallery,” Rafayel explains his joke, making it significantly less funny.

You tilt your head in false confusion. “What gallery?”

The faux smile on your face gives it away. You weren’t supposed to know him outside of this. You haven’t seen him since that first night. You never saw him at the gallery.

Rafayel’s eyes widen in understanding, his mouth opening and closing as he thinks of something to say.

“Oh,” comes out his lame response.

It was him who initiated the NDA. He shouldn’t be surprised that you were keen on enforcing it. You watch as he nervously rubs at the back of his neck, not expecting this sort of reunion.

“Is that why it took you so long to reach out?” Luckily he’s perceptive, not naive enough to not understand the layers of your elusivity.

You pluck at your pants, still nervous in front of him but wanting to be transparent.

“Perhaps. I thought you dropped it as a trick, to be honest. To test if I were some kind of crazy fan.”

“So why did you reach out?”

You shrug. “What would I have to lose if I thought wrong and we never spoke again?”

Rafayel sucks in a breath through his teeth, feeling just as awkward as you.

“I hope I haven’t broken any rules by being here…,” you continue.

“I mean—I’m the one who called you out here.”

“Why are we here anyway?,” you take in your surroundings more. It’s a different hotel than the one you met him in the first time, but you don’t expect EVOL to be within hotels without performances on their schedule. “I thought you all live in Linkon?” Your eyes widen at how that may come out and you cover your mouth almost immediately. “Wait—don’t answer that question. I meant more like—” You don’t know how to finish that question without coming off as invasive and you’re lucky Rafayel laughs at your clear blunder.

“We do live in Linkon… do you?”

You blink at him, not expecting him to throw the question back at you. You had met him the first time at one of EVOL’s concert days in Linkon, but you suppose that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re from here.

“I do.”

The smile on Rafayel’s face seems to widen at the information and he finally takes that time to sit beside you on the edge of the bed, making your shoulders hitch at the proximity.

“I just wanted some privacy this time around.”

You gulp. “Privacy…,” you take that chance to glance at him from your left to gauge his expression. He’s not giving off that predatory air like he had that first time, more honest with his expression and demeanor.

But he changes the subject.

“You looked different that day.”

“Hm?,” you frown at him.

“Your clothes.”

You snort. “I was wearing concert attire that first time, did you think I dressed like that on the regular?”

He takes that time to lean back, looking at what you’re wearing this time around. You’re both similarly in casual clothing. Nothing like the concert attire he wore that night or the dress you wore.

“I guess not,” he smiles. “Have you worked on anything new recently?”

“You’re asking about my art?,” you ask incredulously.

“Indulge me,” he encourages, resting his hand on his chin.

You give him a funny look but you answer regardless. “No. I’ve been in a bit of a rut, so I’ve been taking it slow.”

He hums. “Is that why you were at the gallery that day?”

You look at him questioningly again, wondering how he jumped to that conclusion.

“I do the same thing when I’m in a rut. I take a walk, watch movies, visit galleries, and whatnot.”

“How do you know I wasn’t there to stalk you?,” you joke about the coincidence of you two being there at the same time.

“Psh,” he snorts at you, “If you were following me, you wouldn’t be the one to run first.”

“Hey, I was following the rules of the NDA,” you defend yourself with a small laugh, “I was scared shitless thinking I was going to get into some legal trouble.”

He laughs at you and you can’t help but join, your nerves subsiding little by little the more he makes light of the situation. His gentle demeanor is infectious.

“You did a good job then. I was worried you really weren’t interested.”

Your smile fades a little at his honesty. “Interested in…?” You want him to say it first.

“A repeat.”

He knows you are. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.

You gulp. “I heard you’re leaving within the day or so.”

He hums, leaning forward on his elbow, entering your space the tiniest amount to test the waters. You stand your ground, maintaining eye contact.

“We are. Vacation time ends soon and then it’s back to work. But we’re in no rush,” he lifts his head from his palm, reaching out to barely graze your leg over your pants. You don’t jerk away, a silent sign of consent and he continues. “We don’t leave Linkon until the day after tomorrow.”

His hand trails up from your thigh to grab your waist, turning you towards him more head on than the half way you were angled towards him. There’s a blush heavy on your cheeks but you don’t look away, wanting to convey your consent with the utmost transparency.

“And there’s no one to interrupt us,” he continues laying out the room to you, his voice low as the reality of the situation comes to fruition.

“You’ve really prepared,” you poke fun at him and he grins at you, pleased with himself.

“That I have.” He’s remembered more from your first night, much to your surprise. As memorable as that night was for you, as an idol who’s traveled the entire time between then and now, you’d expect that night to be a distant memory to him. His eyes flit around your face, gauging your levels of anxiety. But you’re surprisingly relaxed, successfully eased into the situation by Rafayel’s light teasing.

“The same rules apply,” he whispers, subtly asking if you’re still willing to continue with your unspoken agreement.

“Okay,” you give him a slight smile and his rises with yours.

He takes the bag you’ve been gripping to settle on the floor before he’s grabbing your waist with both hands and pushing you to further lay on the bed, settling within the pillows. You’re a little more nervous now that you begin, but he continues to speak to you almost casually.

“What’s in your bag, by the way? You had your hand stuffed in there when I opened the door,” he asks as he crawls over you, not touching you any more as you get comfortable on the sheets.

“A taser,” you admit with light embarrassment.

“A taser?,” Rafayel looks down at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well… I text a random number without any sort of verification that the person I’m texting is really the person I’m texting. And then that person sends me an address to meet with a different man in a hotel room, not knowing if they tell the truth or if I’m in danger of a kidnapping or murder. So yes, a taser.”

You try spilling your tribulations with an air of lightness, but Rafayel’s looks more and more troubled the more you admit to your skepticism about the whole situation leading up to now.

There’s a furrow heavy between his brows as he purses his lips. “I’m sorry, I should’ve thought that through a little better. That was horrible of me.”

A smile erupts from you at his apology. He truly is one of the better idols. You can tell he did his best with what’s been made obvious to you. He prepared a room for your privacy, unlike last time. Reached out to you within a time frame that didn’t cut your time together short. And you met within the day, rather than late at night.

“I don’t blame you,” you shrug, “You’re an idol. Your privacy is important.”

He still appears apologetic at your words but he steels himself, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pants.

“Let me make it up to you.” He doesn’t move past that, staring you down as he waits for your consent. A single nod and those pants are sliding down your legs along with your panties, leaving you in nothing but your top. Your chest heaves as he spreads your legs, scooting back to meet your center. It really is a repeat.

You’re watching him on your elbows and he meets your gaze through his lashes.

“Relax.”

The feeling of his tongue on you is all it takes for you to fall on your back, gripping the sheets below you as he proceeds. He’s slow. Meticulous. The flat of his tongue spreading you open before he laps at your clit. A heavy inhale follows the movement and you grip those sheets just a little tighter.

The hands holding your thighs open grip you a little tighter, just as his tongue trails up the entire expanse of you to suckle at your clit.

“Ah.” That first gasp escapes you when he stays there, his tongue darting out to lick between his suckling. You could feel his pause and exhale with that small gasp of pleasure from you before he continues, doing as he was just to hear more. Your thighs tremble with every bit of attention he gives you and those sheets wrinkle beyond measure.

“You’re holding back,” Rafayel whispers against your cunt, lapping at your clit once, twice, before encapsulating it between his lips.

“Don’t make this any more embarrassing,” you grumble, twitching at a particularly harsh lap from his tongue.

“So loud when there were people on the other side of the walls, but so quiet when we’re alone,” he pouts at you, resting his head against your thigh.

“Stop talking.”

“Am I doing a bad job?”

“No, I just—”

“I need to do better,” he supplies an answer for you. It’s not what you were going to say at all, but when he dives back in with more vigor, you can’t remember what you were going to say anyway.

His tongue delves into the source of your building arousal, that slick pooling and loud now that Rafayel’s found it. You cover your eyes in embarrassment, moans ripped out of you to join the cacophony of lewd sounds. There’s no hiding how quickly your arousal has built. You’ve just started, but you’re dripping, that wetness evident on Rafayel’s chin when he releases you for just a second.

A particularly needy whine escapes your throat, followed by an unwarranted grind of your hips upward, chasing Rafayel’s tongue as he pulls away before diving back in, and then a smile from Rafayel against you. He practically makes out with your cunt, messy and loud in an attempt to amplify your pleasure. Your hands dig into those sheets with enough strength to make your fingers ache, but you just can’t hold back your cries.

His tongue leaves the warms of your walls, trailing back up to circle your clit the same time you feel hands grabbing at your own. You open your eyes at the feeling. His hands pry your fingers away from the sheets, pulling you until your hands settle into the soft waves of his hair.

You can’t help but look down at him with surprise. You’re panting, your chest heaving with the overload of stimulation and you feel your heart thump against your chest at the way he looks at you. His hands encapsulate yours, forcing you to card your fingers through his hair as you had that first night. His eyes are blown out, cheeks flushed a deep red as his tongue runs over you at a languid pace, not breaking eye contact. It’s a silent request you can’t fathom him asking, but you indulge him, desperate for more and for something to hold.

You pull him closer to your core at your own volition and watch in amazement as Rafayel’s eyes flutter shut, his hands moving from your own in his hair to hold your thighs open once more. Your thighs tremble in his hold as he suckles your clit and you fear you will probably come from this alone.

“Rafayel,” you gasp, tightening your fingers in his hair. He hums at the sound of his name, not stopping his ministrations. “Keep going like that.”

His eyes flick to yours for a second, a look of surprise on his face at the clear instruction, before he does just as you say. He sucks your clit into his mouth, no stronger or faster than he already was, and you feel yourself build and build and build. You squirm in his hands, your hips chasing his mouth and your hands pulling him closer until you finally tip over that edge.

You shake and gasp through it, releasing one of your hands from Rafayel’s now mused hair to cover your mouth. The pleasure is all consuming, but gentle in the way that hot and cold washes over you. Not rushed nor ripped from you without caution.

You relax when the feeling subsides, but Rafayel continues to mouth at you and it begins feeling like too much.

“Ah—no more,” you whine, pulling Rafayel away from your throbbing sex by the one hand still in his hair.

He seems out of breath, panting not from physical exertion but with how pent up he is. He fully pulls away at your request, still hovering over your lower half as his hands caress your inner thighs. A soothing gesture if it weren’t Rafayel of all people. It’s nerve wracking being the one under his eye.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “How was that?,” he rushes out in an exhale, quiet and breathy.

You turn your head to hide your disbelieving snort. “You’re asking for an evaluation?”

You turn back towards him, catching a glimpse of his amused smile. “You look much more relaxed now,” he answers for you, his hands trailing up your thighs to settle on your knees. Your legs bracket his hips where his erection strains against the fabric of his pants. He continues when you look at him with questioning eyes. “You looked as if you wanted to run at any given chance before.”

“To be fair,” you begin, your breath hitching when Rafayel’s hands move up with him, hands sliding beneath your top as he rises to meet you face to face. You shrink under his gaze. “We were never supposed to meet after the first time.”

“... Are you scared?”

His hands stop at your waist, your shirt pulled up just a little.

“A little.”

He pouts. “Why?”

“You’re Rafayel.”

“And?”

You give him a funny look. You don’t think this is something that needs explaining. “I’ve been a fan of EVOL for years… this is something that you don’t think of happening.”

“For years, huh?”

“Fishing for compliments again?,” you confront him fast this time around.

His eyebrows raise before he settles for a playful smile. “Maybe.” His hands travel up again, helping you remove your top. His fingers skim the edges of your bra, “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?” He’s asked a few.

He lifts your back with one hand, the other moving to unclasp your bra from behind. “How was that?” Your bra loosens with its release, sliding off your arms easily and leaving you nude under Rafayel’s gaze while he remains fully clothed. Just as before.

It’s still slick between your legs, that throbbing from your oversensitivity withdrawing now with your back and forth with the other man. But his erection remains obvious above you, straining but merely hovering. He doesn’t settle between your legs just yet.

The image of Rafayel between your legs flashes through your mind and you squeeze your thighs together.

“It was good.”

“What was good?” His hands lay by your head, leaving you trapped under the ombre of his eyes.

“You’re going to make me say it?” Your idol is strangely talkative during sex.

“I like it,” he says it bluntly, but the red of his ears give away his embarrassment over the fact. He takes the reins, reassuring you and prompting you to follow with his own honesty.

“So honest.” You feel emboldened by his hidden request.

He gulps, one hand moving to settle under your breast.

“I like when you tell me what you like. What to do. How to do it.” He continues with his honesty and you can practically feel how much he wants to proceed. But he waits for you.

And he’s right. You are much more relaxed compared to when you first stepped into the room. Sex muddles your mind, the air within the room hot and heavy and the sight of Rafayel’s straining cock makes your mouth water. It’s all for you.

So you give him a teasing smile, reaching out to tug the end of his shirt enough to make him stumble a little on the bed.

“You did a good job, Rafayel,” he watches you with wide eyes, listening with the utmost attention, “I’d say you did even better than last time.”

He gulps. “Really?”

You ignore his question, tugging his shirt some more. “Going to stay clothed this time, again?”

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at your body before the clothes on his own. He seems to get the imbalance, shucking his shirt off his body swiftly. You pull your hands away once he’s shirtless, the blush on your cheeks burning hotter at the sight. This isn’t something you’ve seen in all your years of stanning EVOL. Censorship stickers over videos and pictures deterring you.

He catches your hand before you could fully retreat, guiding you to feeling the smooth and solid expanse of his chest.

“You can touch.” He seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he merely catches on to your hesitance to touch him as he guides your hands to his hair and now his skin. Your hands caress his skin, amazed at the way he shudders with sensitivity.

“Much better,” you praise.

Your right hand travels down his chest and his torso, goosebumps following in its wake before you steel your nerves, deciding to give Rafayel what he wants. You cup him through his pants and he chokes.

“What is it that you want to hear?,” you decide to tease him, knowing he seeks your guidance over the situation.

He huffs a laugh, his head falling onto your shoulder as he tries pressing his neglected cock further into your hand.

“That you want more.” He bucks into your hand. “Want me.”

You take his hand with your free one, guiding him down to the slick between your legs again. A combination of your everlasting arousal and your first orgasm.

“I want you.”

Two of his fingers slip into you with ease, the sound of it loud.

“You’re so wet…,” Rafayel whispers, leaning back to look for himself. His tone doesn’t give way to him attempting dirty talk, but rather genuine awe at the fact. Endearing in its own way. Your breathing picks up with the way he moves his fingers, your thighs spreading wider to allow him access.

You hold his wrist there as he thrusts his fingers in and out. “That’s good,” you shudder.

He looks at you, catching on to how intently you encourage him. His fingers don’t stop and the squelching fills the room. Soft moans spill from you and Rafayel’s fingers pick up their pace.

“I like your voice.” The honestly just keeps spilling and you feel that blush travel down your neck. “I want to hear you,” he thrusts his fingers particularly hard, ripping a cry out of you, “Do you want more?”

“Yes, please, anything,” you cry over his fingers, wanting something deeper, thicker, not satisfied with his fingers alone.

He pauses for a second, making you whine. He leans over you to grab something from his nightstand, falling back with a condom between his fingers.

You can’t help but laugh a little at the way he presents it.

You coo at him. “You really did learn from last time.”

He smiles at your teasing. It seems he really does enjoy it when you talk back. He throws the condom on the bed, leaning over you again to continue playing you with his fingers.

“Are you ready?”

“Are you?,” you throw the question back at him. You’ve been building up for this moment.

“I’m aching for it.” He rolls off of you, removing the rest of his clothing before grabbing you to sit on top of him. He sits you right on top of his cock and you both choke at the feeling.

You can’t help but peer down at the way he sits between your legs, nestled perfectly within your dripping center and the tip of him leaking and burning a deep red. You hadn’t seen it last time, but now that you do, you can confirm that it’s just as pretty as the rest of him. He’s warm and unbearably hard.

Rafayel’s hands settle on each of your thighs as if needing to hold onto something while his eyes squeeze themselves shut at the feeling of your warmth. You can’t help the need to tease him more, grinding your hips down on his length like you did that first night. But this time he can feel you directly on him, no cloth in the way of feeling your wetness drag against the length of him.

His hands squeeze your thighs even firmer and you freeze at the sound of your name spilling from his lips.

His eyes open at your sudden tenseness and you can’t help but stare at him with wide eyes.

“What?,” he pants, confused at why you suddenly stop.

“You remember my name?,” you blurt, hands planted on his chest.

He frowns at you, looking nearly offended. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I assume you’ve met a lot of people since then.”

The confusion doesn’t leave his face. “What people?”

It’s your turn to frown at him. The answer lies in what you two do now.

You see the revelation click for Rafayel, his eyebrows rising in understanding before he actually scoffs at you.

“It’s not exactly safe to have a lot of sex partners, y’know,” he eyes you up and down, “And it’d be rotten of me not to disclose that to you before we got this far either.”

Your mind runs with what that could mean. You could understand him remembering your night together, what with the awkwardness and for just how many unforeseen circumstances that happened that night. He could remember your face, but if he forgot your name within the six months that have passed you wouldn’t blame him.

But his words now imply that you were the last person he’s met in such a circumstance since then. The last person in his bed and his current one. Your name is the only one fresh in his mind.

“Oh,” is all you could manage.

He raises an eyebrow at you just as he moves your hips forward, grinding you down on him and making you gasp.

“Just what is your perception of me?”

He makes you grind on him again.

“You’re an idol,” you gasp again, “I imagine you meet a lot of people on a day to day basis.”

He hisses at the move of your hips. “What, and you think I just carry tens of NDAs on me at any given time? I thought you liked me.”

You can’t help but huff a laugh before you gasp when the head of his cock brushes against your clit at the perfect angle. “I do like you. But who am I to judge?”

He clicks his tongue before he grinds up at the same time he pushes you down. “I thought I was a good boy in your eyes.”

“Well, you’re definitely a good boy now.”

He hums beneath you just before he grabs that condom abandoned on the sheets. You’re buzzing with adrenaline, watching as he opens that wrapper and slides the rubber over himself. And then he stills, looking at you wearily as he settles back onto the sheets.

“I want to watch.” It's the same words he used that first night and you waste no time taking that opportunity.

You grab his cock, stroking him a few times just for the satisfaction of feeling that weight in your hands and hearing the gasps from his lips before you rise on your knees. You line him up with your entrance, eyeing him for any hint of hesitance, before you’re sinking down when you find none.

His eyes watch with awe and rapture, glued to where he disappears into you bit by bit while his breathing picks up. And you’re no better, your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of finally being filled, a luxury you weren’t granted the first time, and you sigh into it.

You still when your ass meets his hips, adjusting to the stretch of him. And when you’re finally ready to move, rising just a little, he stops you.

“Ah—shit—give me a moment,” he rushes, stopping you and holding you still with his hands on your hips.

You raise your eyebrows. “You okay?”

He nods, his hair fanning over the sheets beneath him with his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he gulps, looking as if overwhelmed. You sit there, waiting for him to indicate he’s ready, but you’re squirming in his lap. He fills you so perfectly, reaching you in places you haven’t been able to reach yourself as of recent and you’re desperate to feel him slide out just to feel him fill you back up again.

His cock twitches in you once and you’re yearning for it, teased by the lack of any other stimulation.

Rafayel sighs and then he trails his hands down from your hips to your thighs, giving you freedom of movement. And he merely watches as your hips rise, his cock sliding out until just the tip remains, and you’re dropping down again. It feels too good, something you haven’t had in forever and you indulge yourself with Rafayel of all people.

You ride him to your liking. There’s no complaints on Rafayel’s end as his lips part in a sigh, a groan. The sounds that spill from him, pleasantly vocal, spur you on, turning you on even more and causing your hips to move faster on their own accord. Your hands are planted on his chest, giving you leverage to piston him in and out of you and you can’t help the onslaught of moans that spill out of yourself, too lost in your pleasure to care.

A quick peek presents Rafayel’s expression stuck in awe. His eyes watch you with utmost attention, observing, even in the midst of his pleasure. His cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves. But his eyes never leave you.

And then you’re suddenly flipping. Your eyes fly open with shock and you’re laying atop the sheets with Rafayel digging into you and making you choke. He flips the position with himself on top and between your legs again, his cock never leaving.

“Okay,” he readjusts your legs around his hips, “I got it.”

You’re about to give him a questioning look but then he plants his hands by your head, pulling out of you only to slam back in to make you choke. Your hands fly to his shoulders as you cry and he does it again and again, punching moan after moan out of you in a way you can’t contain.

He sets a rhythm similar to the one you set, but at his mercy it feels only that much better. You squeeze your legs around his waist, encouraging him to stay in you, to keep going, and he shows no indication of doing otherwise.

His head falls to rest between the junction between your neck and shoulder at some point, his sighs and moans reverberating in your ear and you wrap your arms around him more securely for something to hold on to.

“Ah,” his voice is loud by your ear, “So much better than I imagined.”

You whimper at the sound of his voice dripping with need and want. A reaction caused by you.

He sighs into your neck, his breath tickling your skin, and you card your fingers into his hair.

“Harder.”

He pulls away from your neck, looking ethereal with the way his skin sheens with a light layer of sweat and his lips parted in a pant. He grabs the back of your knees at your request, pushing them up and away from his hips just to give him access to slam into you with more force and you choke on yourself.

“Just like that,” your head falls back and you moan again when he slams back in just how you like.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he manages through his own sounds of pleasure. With your legs folded in on yourself, he’s able to reach you even deeper. And you can’t help but supply him more of those cries when his right hand moves from holding one of your legs, moving between you two to thumb at your clit.

“Ah! Rafayel!” You reach out to grab his wrist, wanting to push him away when it all suddenly feels too much. Like that orgasm will rip out of you rather than that smooth wash of that first one he’d granted you. But he catches your own instead, moving your hand to play with yourself much to your surprise. His fingers press into yours, forcing you to rub circles into yourself just as his cock continues to make a mess of you.

He smiles at you, as cruel as he is, at the way your thighs shake around him. He continues guiding your hand and you’re entirely trapped beneath him.

“Wait—”

“Say my name again,” Rafayel cuts you off when you try pulling your hand away and he keeps you there.

You throw your head back, tortured by the deep dig in you and the constant pressure on your clit. Your voice gets caught in your throat and your hips grind up and then away as if chasing that pleasure but also trying to run away.

Rafayel runs your fingers down when you don’t respond past your onslaught of moans. Your index and middle fingers part when he pulls you down to feel where the girth of him is buried in your walls, collecting the slick that pools around where you’re joined, before he drags your fingers back up to rub over your clit with added wetness. You whine in response, your thighs trying to squeeze themselves shut but getting caught by Rafayel’s body between yours.

“C’mon,” Rafayel goads you, leaning forward to meet you face to face with that teasing smile. His fingers press over yours with more force and you cry out. “My name.”

He stops his thrusts in favor of grinding into you and you shake your head. “Rafayel—I can’t—”

Your breath hitches when you open your eyes to beg him, catching his stare so close to you. His eyes widen when you make eye contact. And then he stiffens. You’re already frozen under his gaze, but your eyes widen to match his own when you feel a slight warmth within you.

His hand releases your own to plant beside your head and his forehead falls to rest on your shoulder.

“Damn it.”

You blink up at the ceiling, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

You’re only broken out of your thoughts when Rafayel pulls out, his fingers taking over where his cock once was, pistoning in and out of you fast before your building orgasm could subside. His thumb presses against your clit and his head travels down to suckle at your nipple when you finally crest over that climb.

You’re both panting after you’ve finished and you wince when he pulls his fingers out. You watch as he rises on his knees to pull the condom off of him before he flops onto the sheets beside you.

The room is quiet besides the sounds of your labored breathing and the air is hot and heavy with the scent of sex.

You turn your head when Rafayel groans next to you and you catch him covering his face with his hand.

“Hm?”

He runs that hand over his face, meeting your stare. “I feel like I could’ve done better than that.”

You laugh a little. “I don’t know, it was pretty damn good to me.”

“I finished too earlyyy,” he whines, practically pouting into the sheets when he turns to bury his face away from your stare.

You smile at that purple hair in your line of sight, a perfectly red ear in front of you. This is a side of Rafayel you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing yourself.

“It’s all your fault,” he turns, half his face still buried in the sheets as he peeks at you.

“Me?,” you ask with a lilt to your voice, egging him on with a smile.

He nods. “Mhm. Too warm, too tight—”

“Okay,” you cut him off, not wanting to hear him say it now that the deed was done.

He pushes himself onto his elbows to peer down at you before he pinches your cheeks together with one hand. “And don’t be so pretty next time.”

“Next time?,” you blurt, not getting a chance to ask the other question that arises with that statement.

His eyes dart down where your chest rises and falls and then he lets go of your face in favor of resting his head against your breasts. His limbs wrap around your body as he speaks into the supple skin of your flesh.

“And about that,” he rises from your chest to peer down at you again, “You thought I slept around?”

You open your mouth to say something before he plops down onto your breasts again.

“And after all that and the gallery, you thought I forgot your name.” You can practically hear the pout in his words.

He turns his head to look up at you again when his head moves with the sound of your laughter, his brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry,” you manage past your giggles, “That was wrong of me to assume.”

You pat his head jokingly but he holds your hand there, keeping your hand within his hair when he lays on you once again. He lets go when you show no indication of pulling away, moving his hand to caress the breast in his line of sight. Your shoulders hitch a little at the action, but you continue stroking his hair when he does nothing past massaging you almost absentmindedly.

“I’ll do better next time,” he grumbles.

“How will there be a ‘next time’?,” you ask, staring up into the ceiling.

He doesn’t respond and you shudder when you feel his thumb caress over the peak of your breast.

“There wasn’t even supposed to be a ‘this time’,” you continue, needing to hear his answer, “You said it yourself: we’re strangers after this.”

His hand stills on your breast.

“EVOL will be traveling out of the country to film the music video for our next comeback. Once that’s out, we’ll be on tour again next year.” He tells you his upcoming schedule suddenly, something you’re sure he’s not supposed to be telling you and then he rises on his elbows, bracketing you within his arms. “Will you be there?”

You look up at him with a frown. But his plan is obvious: should you be there, he will seek you out again. A year is significantly longer than the time between now and the first night you two spent together. There’s no way he keeps whatever plan he’s setting up.

“Who knows,” you respond, “Money is tight. I barely managed to see EVOL for the first time this year.”

His shoulders slump at your response. But you give him a little smile, holding a fist between you two in encouragement.

“But I’ll be supporting your comeback. I can’t wait.”

It’s basically a rejection. A light one. You’re not going to break the NDA by seeking him out on your own. You have no right reaching out to an idol. You have to remain a fan no matter how much you may want to keep this up. It’s all up to chance. To Rafayel.

You can see him contemplating your words. He doesn’t look away, but there’s a passiveness to his expression. You know you’re right. Should this be a regular thing, you both risk getting caught. Scandals will arise should the media suspect the face of EVOL is in a relationship, no matter what kind, and you will be under blast for being the reason EVOL falls into a negative light. He shouldn’t contact you for his own sake and you shouldn’t contact him out of respect. You have Thomas’s number, technically, but you will get into serious trouble should you contact him out of your own volition rather than Rafayel’s direct request. And then again, he really shouldn’t be doing that.

And even if you attend the next concert, chances of him spotting you in the crowd again are slim. He will have better luck finding a new bed partner.

He sighs, breaking eye contact to stare at a random spot on the bed.

“You did good,” you praise him, knowing now what drives him as you try lightening the mood.

He side-eyes you before resting on your chest again, squeezing you within his arms. “You’re lying.”

Your hand returns to his hair, carding through his locks at his clear disappointment. “Not even. You clearly took notes from the last time.”

“And I didn’t practice,” he says matter of factly.

“Aw,” you coo.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not,” you smile to yourself.

“... So, you live in Linkon?”

“Yes.”

“Do you stan any other groups?”

“No.”

“How long have you stanned EVOL?”

“Since your debut.”

“Am I your bias?”

You roll your eyes, catching on to his deliberate questions. “No,” you respond sarcastically.

He rises from your breasts, staring you down for the millionth time. “What? Who is it then?”

You barely hold in your laugh at the clear offense on his face. “Xavier,” you lie.

He scoffs. “Why?”

You actually laugh this time. “You’re so silly.” It’s obviously him. You look away to check the time on the nightstand, finding that it’s reached a good time of the night for both of you to catch a ride home with enough time for a good night’s sleep. “We should get going.”

He’s still pouting when you look at him again, a contrast to the mirth in your own.

“Don’t go yet,” he slides off the bed, “I haven’t even cleaned you off yet.”

“So sweet.”

“I’m very sweet.”

You laugh again and indulge yourself in watching him from the back as he disappears into the hotel room’s bathroom. He returns with a damp towel in his hands and you watch as he spreads your legs again, wiping your thighs and between. You grab his arm when he’s done, pulling him forward to hover over you again.

“What’s with the pout?,” you cradle his face and his pout only grows more dramatic.

“I still feel like I could’ve done better…”

“I came twice.”

“But I came too fasstt… this is going to be your lasting impression of me.”

You huff a laugh. “I promise you, I will be dreaming of this day for months.” His eyebrows raise and you continue at the slight tinge of pink on his cheekbones. “Your tongue, your hands on my skin, your cock,” you look down at where he begins to swell and you smirk at him knowingly, “It will be very hard to forget how good you made me feel. I only hope it’s the same for you.”

It’s a lot to ask as a nobody compared to him.

“You don’t even know.”

But he supplies an answer to boost your ego regardless.

You smile at him, breathing an exhale when his hands settle on your waist and travel up to thumb at the peaks of your breasts. You’re buzzing with arousal again and his is apparent between you two.

“Thank you for indulging in my fantasies again,” you continue feeding him, “You’ve supplied me with material for the next year.”

“You think of me?” He pinches your nipples and you squeeze your legs together.

“All my orgasms are yours.”

He grabs you at that, hugging you to him and pressing your ass up and onto his now throbbing cock. “Don’t leave yet,” he practically begs and you feel a little bad for goading him, knowing your words would arouse a reaction out of him based on what you’ve come to learn. He’s easily affected by positive feedback.

“We can’t.”

“Why?” He’s already walking on his knees further up the bed, carrying you against him and even you can’t help but grind yourself against the hardness of his length.

“You leave within the next day, right?,” you ask as he settles you against the pillows.

“Yeah…”

“Don’t you have things to prepare for?”

“Maybe…”

“Rafayel.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Let me make it up to you.” You flip the script, pushing him onto his back instead. He watches you with wide eyes when you crawl between his legs. Your time is limited, but you will make sure he finishes quickly. A parting gift if you will, if only to leave him with this last memory of you. As selfish as it sounds.

A hiss escapes him when you grasp his cock, and then a choke when you slide him into your mouth.

He reaches out to cup your cheek, panicking a little when you take him into your mouth deeper.

“Wait—you don’t need to do that,” he winces, trying to pull you off. His attempts fail when you grab his hand with your own, guiding him to card through your hair and cup the back of your head. His chest heaves in disbelief and you smile around his girth. You mirror what he did with you and you’re smug at the reaction that comes out of him.

He tests the waters tentatively, pushing you further and you hum in appreciation. He’s gentle with it, worried about hurting or forcing you, but that single noise from you followed by the feel of your tongue dragging along the underside of him when you move back up is enough to eradicate all sense of hesitance.

The hand in your hair grips you just a little tighter when you suckle on the tip of his cock and when his free hand moves to cover his own mouth, brows furrowed and moans muffled behind his hand, you know he will not last long. He’s incredibly sensitive.

His hips buck into your mouth on their own accord when you continue to take him no matter how much he tries not to. His groans spur you on and you’re caught off guard when warmth spills into your mouth at no particular point in time.

A sound of shock escapes your throat and Rafayel’s pulling you off hurriedly.

“Shit—sorry,” he pants, surprised himself at how fast he finishes and the last of his cum spurts onto your chest. He pulls you back up to meet his face, seating you in his lap. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he moves the hair out of your face for you, “Spit it out.” He holds one of his hands under your mouth and you hold him steady with your own hands, allowing his cum to dribble out of your mouth and into his palm.

You look at him through your lashes when you're done and smile at the look on his face. His expression is nothing short of disbelief, lust, and maybe even awe. He’s frozen in place, face flushed as he merely stares at you with his palm full of his own cum and your saliva.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Was it good?”

“You’ve ruined me.”

You beam at him. Mission accomplished.

A humorous exhale leaves him at your expression. “You’ve gotten a lot more bold.”

You shrug. It’s true though, you’ve gotten a lot more comfortable around him just within the span of the day. But you suppose that’s what happens when you’ve done nothing but explore one another's bodies for hours.

You wipe the remnants of his orgasm off your chest. “We should really get going.”

“I’ll walk you down,” he responds as he watches you stumble off the bed to collect your clothes.

“I don’t think that’s a smart idea.”

“Why?”

“Rafayel, you need to think these things through,” you laugh a little at his own ignorance, “Imagine if you’re seen walking out of a hotel, which is already bad in the first place so make sure you’re careful, but even worse if you’re seen with me.”

“It just doesn’t feel right to let you walk out there by yourself at this time.”

“I did the last time.”

“Another one of my mistakes.”

You meet his eyes in the midst of pulling your pants back over your legs. You appreciate the sentiment.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not even midnight yet. I’ll call a cab.”

He clicks his tongue, walking across the room to wash his hands. “Fine…”

You wait for him when you’re done dressing, watching him dress himself. And then you’re face to face in front of the door, ready to say goodbye. Maybe for good. Maybe not. You don’t know at this point.

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes dart around your face and you fidget under his gaze. You take it upon yourself to speak first.

“It was nice seeing you again, Rafayel. I’m glad you reached out,” you decide to be honest, happy that you’ve met with him once more.

“I’m glad you didn’t ignore me any longer than you already have,” he mimics your sentiment, probably not knowing what to say himself.

“Have a safe flight. I’ll be ready for your comeback. Don’t overwork yourself. I hope you sleep well. I hope you all receive a vacation before the tour next year. Good luck with everything.”

Rafayel laughs at your spiel. “Thank you,” he moves to open the door for you, allowing you to leave first for the least likely chances at getting caught by whoever, “Get home safe tonight. I’m excited to see whatever you work on next. I’ll see you.”

He meets your eyes deliberately with that last statement and you can’t find it in you to argue with him anymore. So you give him a fleeting smile before walking out that door. Strangers again once you leave the space of that room.

Notes:

i feel like i knew what i wanted to put for the end note but i forgot.

BUT I DIDNT MEAN TO UPDATE THIS FIC THIS SOON... im supposed to be working on isytt but im on my period and was in a mood and wrote this out like crazy

thank you for reading tho muah muah hope u enjoyed this parallel from the first chapter