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Every Wednesday, Dongmin and his coworkers drop by the same bar after work to unwind.
Every week, at roughly the same time, the three same men in slacks and rumpled button-ups slide into the same booth, order the same things, and spend the same amount of time sitting and drinking.
Every Wednesday, the same bartender serves them their drinks.
She’s pretty. Blonde, obviously bleached. She wears a different black top each time. Last week, it was a cropped polo. The week before that, a nearly skin-tight turtleneck. And the week before that, an off-the-shoulder sweater.
Shit.
Dongmin feels his dick twitch in his pants at the mere thought of it.
It’s Wednesday. 7:43 PM. It’s drizzling today, blanketing everything in a thin veil of fog.
The bar’s neon lights look even prettier splashing off the bartender’s skin, pale and unblemished. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt today. Shoulders covered, but leaving the rest of her arms bare. From where Dongmin stands, he can just make out the faint specks of her moles on her arms.
“Hi, Sungho-ssi.”
A smile curves at the corners of Sungho’s lips as Dongmin’s voice reaches her ears. Her eyes momentarily glance up from the half-finished cocktail in front of her.
“Dongmin-ah,” Sungho responds. Her voice is honey-sweet.
Dongmin inhales, gaze trailing after Sungho as she walks away momentarily to retrieve a slice of lime.
“I thought we said we’d drop the honorifics,” Sungho reminds with a teasing lilt in her voice. She presses the fruit slice into the rim of the glass, movements delicate and careful. She hands the drink off to another waiting patron.
Dongmin clears his throat. Sungho leans closer from behind the bar, her hands braced on the edge of the darkwood fixture.
“Force of habit,” Dongmin says with a chuckle, breath catching with how close Sungho has gotten. The bartender responds with a languid smile.
“Same thing for you and your friends tonight?” Sungho raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. She eyes the two others seated at a nearby booth over Dongmin’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Dongmin affirms.
Sungho ducks down for a second and resurfaces with a bucket of the establishment’s top-grade beer. She slides it over to Dongmin, arms flexing at the added weight of the drinks.
“Need me to bring it over?” Sungho asks coyly. Dongmin takes the bucket from her, fingers brushing against her delicate ones.
“I’ve got it,” Dongmin reassures with a wink.
Sungho chuckles. Her already rouged cheeks grow even pinker.
/
Every Wednesday, Dongmin speaks with Sungho, and every Wednesday, Dongmin strays further and further away from God.
Wednesday nights are the nights when Dongmin’s fiancé sleeps away from home. It’s a quirk from her workplace, because apparently, sleepovers at the aquarium are a huge hit if you’re a person who immensely enjoys marine life and the ocean.
At least that’s how Leehan explained it to him.
So, every Wednesday, for the past eight weeks or so, Dongmin lets himself indulge just a bit.
In drink. In laughter with his coworkers. In Sungho’s perfume, reminiscent of sticky icing atop a birthday cake.
/
Eight Wednesdays ago, Dongmin entered the bar for the first time. Woonhak insisted it was the place to be. New, but not ridiculously trendy. Favored by the veteran drinkers, but still hip enough for a young crowd.
Sungho was wearing her hair up that day, her fringe falling softly around her face. Dongmin stumbled over his words as he ordered, and he was mortified, then immediately guilty that he cared that much about how this nameless bartender perceived him.
He was never that nervous with Leehan. At the beginning, sure. But there were butterflies in Dongmin’s stomach, flutters in his chest he hadn’t felt in so long.
Then Sungho giggled–light and airy–and Dongmin’s whole world flipped over on its head.
Seven Wednesdays ago, Dongmin came back and asked for her name.
/
Six Wednesdays ago, Jaehyun said something about ‘the hot blonde at the bar’. Dongmin felt an unexpected irritation then.
I was there first.
Dongmin asked for Sungho’s number, fully expecting to be turned down, to be presented with an excuse about how it’s not appropriate and how Sungho doesn’t really do–
“Sure,” Sungho agreed, grabbing a napkin and scrawling out the digits on it.
(The next day, on Thursday, Dongmin almost messaged her. But he held back, crumpled the napkin into a ball and stuffed it into the pocket of one of his old jackets.)
/
Five Wednesdays ago, Sungho asked why Dongmin didn’t text her. There was a playful pout on her glossed lips, and Dongmin felt a primal heat erupt deep in his body.
“I have a fiancé,” Dongmin said, the bucket of beer sitting momentarily forgotten between them on the bar.
Sungho paused, mouth agape. Slowly, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Dongmin begged the heavens for reprieve.
“Do you love her?” Sungho asked, tilting her head to the side.
Later, in the backseat of his car, as Dongmin eased himself inside Sungho’s leaking cunt, the bartender would tell him what gave his lack of true resolve away.
“You answered right away,” Sungho panted, hips slamming repeatedly down on Dongmin’s lap as she fucked herself on his cock.
“Like you were trying to prove something to me. Or yourself. And yet, here you are.”
/
Four Wednesdays ago, Dongmin slid the driver’s side seat all the way back, and Sungho sat on the car floor between his legs, her mouth stuffed full of him.
Three Wednesdays ago, Sungho sobbed into her mouth as Dongmin fucked her open with his tongue, the leather seat beneath them wet and slick with her arousal.
Two Wednesdays ago, the two of them smiled elatedly against each other’s mouths while Sungho once again eased herself down on Dongmin.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Dongmin had complimented, arms wrapping around Sungho almost protectively.
“You’ve never seen me in the daytime,” Sungho countered, which earned a laugh from Dongmin.
But he started to wonder.
Sungho in white, far removed from her dark work clothes. In pink, periwinkle, yellow. Sungho’s eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, thin shadows casting on her cheekbones.
Sungho in the passenger seat of his car, laughing that same laugh she gives when Dongmin kisses across her collarbones, an action reserved only for after the fact, for when they start to talk. About their lives. About who they are when the sun is up.
/
Last Wednesday, Dongmin gave Sungho his address.
“Come by after your shift,” he said.
“But only on Wednesdays. And you have to leave in the morning.”
/
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
Sungho is standing outside the apartment door, hands shoved inside the pockets of her leather jacket. She’s still wearing the same clothes from her shift. Sleeveless black shirt. Blue jeans. A tote is slung over her shoulder.
Dongmin opens the door wider, and Sungho hesitantly steps in, eyes darting around the dimly lit space of the living room. The door closes behind them both and Sungho peers up as Dongmin turns to look at her.
“Nice place,” Sungho compliments.
Dongmin smiles. “Designed it myself.”
“Wow,” Sungho praises, voice dropping lower as she sneaks a hand up Dongmin’s back. The man chuckles, reaching up to tug her jacket down.
Sungho lets Dongmin slip the piece of clothing off her, handing off her bag at the same time. He takes her hand and guides her deeper into his home, depositing the jacket and her things onto the couch.
“Are you gonna fuck me on your bed? The one you share with your fiancé?”
Dongmin stops abruptly, turning fully towards Sungho. Her candor floors him, but the accompanying rise of her eyebrows, daring him to answer, lights a familiar warmth in the pit of Dongmin’s stomach.
“Do you want me to?” Dongmin returns, an arm snaking around Sungho’s waist. He tugs her closer, and her hands automatically find their place on his shoulders.
I’ll do anything you want.
The truth is, Dongmin catches himself already formulating a plan to cover up the traces from the bed, should they choose to do it there.
He’d strip the mattress of the covers, all the pillowcases, and the duvet, too. Then he’d spill a little juice on the bedsheet. Just a little. So when Leehan asks why the sheets are already bundled up in the hamper way sooner than expected, Dongmin can just say it was an accident on his part.
A momentary clumsiness.
He didn’t mean to, he’d say.
“I think you want to yourself,” Sungho teases, letting her fingers linger on the first button of Dongmin’s shirt.
Dongmin merely hums, leaning in to finally seal his lips over Sungho’s. He kisses her fervently, a hand easily curling around one side of her neck, keeping her still. He pulls her forward, mouths still pressed together, guiding her towards the bedroom.
Dongmin only fumbles momentarily with the doorknob before it swings open, and the two of them stumble in. Sungho whimpers when Dongmin pushes her onto the bed, his knees immediately bracketing both sides of her hips.
Sungho’s hair is splayed out on the dark blue sheets, yellow-white tendrils like wispy clouds against a stormy sky. Dongmin smooths his hands up her legs and makes quick work of her jeans, tugging them off impatiently. He groans when he sees the red, lacy material of her underwear.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Dongmin curses, leaning down to kiss Sungho again. She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling at the strands.
Dongmin once more evokes the name of God in his head, begging. For what? For mercy? For more? He’s not sure at this point.
There are imprints on Sungho’s stomach, faint red lines and creases left by the waistband of her pants. Dongmin traces them lightly, entranced by the break in her perfect skin. His fingers push the material of her shirt further up, just below where the bottom of her bra would be.
One week is a long time, but not enough to completely erase the traces that Dongmin left on Sungho’s body.
A trail of reddish-blue spots runs along Sungho’s ribs, right beneath her breasts. Dongmin pushes the rest of her shirt over her chest, and the sight of her ruby red bra goes straight to his dick.
“Hurry,” Sungho urges, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Their eyes meet and Dongmin’s breath is nearly knocked out of his lungs.
Sungho is flushed, exposed from the chest down, her lips swollen from the onslaught of kisses. This is a scene Dongmin is used to seeing, set against the backdrop of the headboard and the bedroom wall behind it.
But this time, the subject is completely different. Light hair instead of reddish curls. Sharp feline eyes where doe eyes should be.
“We have all night,” Dongmin breathes, thumbs hooking under the waistband of Sungho’s panties.
The rest of their clothes are discarded, much to Sungho’s relief (‘You’re still fully clothed, Dongmin-ah!’), and even though Dongmin would have loved to stretch this out even more, the ache in his pants was becoming too much of a distraction.
And now what awaits Dongmin is Sungho, bare and lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Shadows ripple over the planes and curves of her body as she shifts further up the bed. Dongmin follows, crawling over to her, to where she’s reaching out, her palm smoothing over his cheek once he’s close enough.
Dongmin hovers over Sungho, bracing himself on either side of her head.
“You waiting for something?” Sungho asks through a grin, wrapping her arms around Dongmin’s neck.
Dongmin returns the gesture, the corners of his lips turning up as he takes in Sungho’s face.
“Just wanna look at you for a bit.”
Sungho flushes, turning away, but Dongmin is quick to catch her by the chin. He tilts her face back to where he can see her eyes: heavily lidded with pupils blown wide.
“This romantic schtick doesn’t suit you, by the way,” Sungho scoffs, threading her fingers through his hair once more, lightly massaging his scalp. Dongmin sighs, letting his eyelids flutter shut momentarily.
“Yeah?” Dongmin asks lowly. He lines himself up with Sungho’s entrance, prodding at it with his tip.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman, but you want me to treat you like a whore?”
Dongmin pushes in with relative ease, given that Sungho has been leaking all over the sheets for the past few minutes. She yelps, her hold tightening around Dongmin.
“I’m not the whore around here,” Sungho challenges, smashing her lips to Dongmin’s.
Dongmin sets up a brutal pace, and Sungho is utterly and completely gone. Her whines fill the room, for sure bleeding through the walls into his neighbor’s unit. The people next door aren’t particularly nosy, and he prays it stays that way. He also hopes that they don’t have the foresight to differentiate Sungho’s noises from his fiancé’s.
“Fuck–shit, harder,” Sungho demands, wrapping her legs around Dongmin’s waist and forcing him closer. He obliges her and starts slamming his hips against her with even more force.
The bed creaks beneath them and Dongmin thinks he might just die from how turned on he is.
A thought occurs to Dongmin as he gazes down at Sungho’s debauched figure.
Usually, they’d say that cheaters would prefer to fuck their encounters in ways that inhibit the view of their face. It makes it impersonal, harder to feel guilty about what they’re doing. Or perhaps it’s a way to pretend that it’s their actual partner they’re making love to.
But.
Dongmin wants nothing more than to keep looking. To trace the lines of Sungho’s face with his eyes and his fingertips. To kiss both her eyes, reverent and tender. To watch as her expression slackens when he presses his thumb into her mouth and down on her tongue.
Sungho has him in a vice grip, arms wound tight around his neck and legs locked by his hips. He’s thrusting shallowly into her, barely moving, desperate to get them both there.
Dongmin retrieves his digit from the warm confines of Sungho’s mouth, reaching down instead between their bodies. He fumbles momentarily, concentrating hard as he tries to maintain his pace while finding Sungho’s sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Ah-!” Sungho bucks into Dongmin’s hand, and he knows he’s found it. He draws harsh circles over it with his thumb, reveling in the way Sungo’s body arches up into him.
“I’m close,” Sungho whines. Her nails dig into the skin of Dongmin’s shoulder.
“Yeah?” Dongmin says through gritted teeth. “Gonna come on this cock?”
Sungho whimpers, nods. “Mhm.”
“That’s it. Come on, baby. Come for me.” Dongmin speeds his movements over Sungho’s clit.
“Oh, fuck–!”
Sungho’s body seizes up, then she starts to tremble, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her eyes squeeze shut, and a long, drawn-out moan finally escapes her.
Dongmin grunts as he feels Sungho’s walls clench around him, triggering his own orgasm. He shoots his load deep into her and it clicks in his mind that he’s definitely past the point of redemption.
He catches himself as he slumps forward, careful not to crush Sungho underneath him. The room is plunged into near silence, their breaths the only noise above the gentle hum of the ventilation system.
Eventually, Dongmin pulls out and plops down beside Sungho, his vision bleary and heart still racing.
He looks over to his side and Sungho has her eyes closed, her pink lips parted as she catches her breath.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sungho whispers, eyes still unmoving.
Dongmin’s eyebrows crease together. “Done what? Come inside you?”
A ghost of a smile graces Sungho’s lips.
“No. Yes. I mean…”
A pause. Sungho takes a deep breath.
“Everything. You shouldn’t–we shouldn’t…”
Sungho finally opens her eyes and locks them onto Dongmin’s.
They stare at each other for a while until Dongmin can’t take the wounded look on Sungho’s face anymore. He averts his gaze to his phone on the nightstand.
Thursday. 12:01.
Messages
Ihan <3
how are you? i left some food in the fridge for you. make sure to eat! see you tomorrow 🤓
/
Dongmin tells Sungho he loves her.
It’s not Wednesday anymore.