— paris in the rain
— pairing: kim junmyeon x reader (oc; female)
— genre: romance, mild angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!au.
— summary: when a bout of bad weather keeps you and your boyfriend from an evening on the streets of Paris, he gratifies your mood with wine, then leads you into a night of frivolous games, silly kissing and slow touching. and maybe something more.
— warnings (18+ / minors DNI): explicit, unprotected sex; marking; biting; oral sex (f and m receiving); semi-public sex; praise kink; choking; hair pulling (m and f receiving); tit-fucking; clit-biting; mild edging and overstimulation; dirty talk; mild roleplay; exhibitionism; mentions of food, alcohol, body dysmorphia, anxiety and therapy. and last but not the least, cream soda!jun in that one silk shirt that had both @jenmyeons and me gasping for air because holy shit, this man—
— word count: 8k
— author’s note: hello, hello. this is a random attack/request meant for @jenmyeons. i love u, moa. have fun perishing!
“We’ll be fine if we just take an umbrella along.”
He chuckles, a crystalline sound that seems to come so easy, so often, when he’s around you. Defeat is not your comfort zone, and never has been. Junmyeon can’t help but think of the time in university when his lot of third-year thespians were responsible for hosting a scavenger hunt for the new drama society recruits, and you had been the only one who cared enough to make it across campus on a moonless, ungodly two-am night just to find a clue in the film studies facility. When you’d tumbled past the auditorium doors at daybreak, with winter dew along the slope of your nose and all required collectables in tow, he thinks it started then: his incessant want to undo whatever endangers your sense of sanctuary; his wish to be the harbour where your ship comes to rest, no matter where it had been before. His fingers had clenched even then, with the need to wipe the morning mist off your hair and maybe taste the dawn you’d carried into the room within the curve of your cupid’s bow, but he’d stuck to an appreciative round of applause along with his friends, the air in his chest a desirous hurricane.
Junmyeon wasn’t a quitter or a proponent of secrecy by any means, but he believed in giving into surrender if there were too many things beyond his control. With you, he’d been made to confront a question: what if, instead of weighing his options on a scale of reason and righteousness, he went ahead and did whatever felt right anyway?
Five months later, you’d dragged each other into an empty rehearsal hall — the collar of his pink sweater vest crumpled within your fist while he kissed your neck, and your back leaving its imprint against the window while his palm burned into your thigh — all because he’d chickened out on kissing you at your doorstep after your date the night before, the Notre dame roses he’d bought you filling the air with a decadent sweetness that had made your skin crave for the heat of his mouth.
“Or we can stay here”, he replied, rooting himself back into the present — a gift he’s lucky to be sharing with you, pun intended — and his hands fixate on the little star, perpetually crooked from constant movement, that rests above the apex of your collarbones. Satisfied with how it sits against your skin, he lets his eyes meet yours. “Order in and watch the Eiffel Tower from afar.”
Your eyes squint in consideration, thoughts wisping at the corners of your eyes before you scoff. “You’re getting old. Whatever happened to the man who used to drag me to museums and monasteries at sunrise?”
“Tell that to the cold you’ll have if we get caught in the rain”, he huffs in reply, entirely too fond and in love beyond reason as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips slow down — to watch your breath catch and your chest rise beneath your white cocktail dress. It never gets old — the way your shared attraction for each other still stands tall, still makes both of you quiver in moments both mundane and miraculous. Helpless against his poetic tendencies, he thinks of Wordsworth’s deathless yew tree: an anomaly of nature and nurture that survived the tempests of time, with fear and hope, silence and foresight, all gathered under its canopy to celebrate what seems to succeed despite the endless adversities of life. If he’s the light that illuminates a meadow, you’re both the forest and the sun — capable of holding fire and fruition simultaneously. “You always fall sick so easily, and never get checked up.”
As if in agreement, the skies rumble with roiling thunder, and the clouds that huddle over the horizon are illuminated by a flash of lightning that almost eclipses the reign that the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe hold over the Paris cityscape. The lace curtains beat against the windows, and you turn to look at them in surprise, before returning your gaze to him again, a wry smirk at the end of your lips. “You got what you wanted, huh? As always?”
“As always?”, he quips, dropping his arm to the curve of your hip, feeling the subtle friction of your skirt against his touch before tugging you close, grip firm and faithful at the small of your back. “As if you aren’t more than capable of having your way with me.” Before you, life was a palette of situations, each colour something between a whisper of hope and a warning of fatigue. With you, he’s learnt the nuances of both tenderness and tension, every day a new canvas for the two of you to turn into something masterful — between the blues of bliss and the pinks of pleasure, the crimsons of conflict and the silvers of silence, you’ve made artists and muses out of each other. “As if you don’t enjoy getting what you want out of me.”
Your smirk dissolves into a teasing grin as you clear your throat bashfully and look away, eyes finding the streaks of sunset in the distance, tremors of lightning cutting through the cool greys and saturated oranges. Before too long, your head finds the cleft of his shoulder blade, one hand at the side of his waist as you sigh. “We needed this, didn’t we?”
Junmyeon is hardly unaware of what you mean. Between the exertions of your jobs and the tenacities of your tempers, there had been some exchanges that weren’t ideal — he’d had to postpone date nights a few too many times, and you’d let yourself stay distracted out of spite when he’d made himself available. After arguments that started in the kitchen, continued in the bedroom and did not end the morning after, he’d let himself become frantic, like someone on the verge of failing at something they’d devoted their life to. Eventually, it’d been you who had cornered him, hair dripping water onto his skin and the floor after you’d overheard him crying in the refuge of the shower, and held him until he’d divulged the vagaries of his headspace, his head pressed into the valley of your chest. After you both came back into the landscape of your living room, he looked both relaxed and determined in a way he only does when his mental chemistry has been altered somehow, and before you retired for bedtime, there were two one-way tickets for Paris sitting in his email inbox.
“I just needed you”, he whispers, overwhelmed all over again by the degree of his devotion for you that never wavers. “It is unfair, the way we tend to disregard what is right in front of us. I’m not looking to repeat that mistake anytime soon.”’
“Jun, I’m not asking for grand promises. Because life”, you pause, managing to somehow push yourself even closer to him, and a flash of lightning in the distance makes you tremble, “will test us at all times. It’s not a dealbreaker if I’m not with you every waking hour, but it is when you let things fester in your mind until it cuts you off from what we have built with each other so painstakingly.”
And it’s true: because you’d also fallen into those patterns earlier in the relationship. Conquered by critiques of yourself during your first rounds of cognitive therapy and subsequent medication, you’d somehow lost yourself in the melee of altered outfit sizes and changing mirror reflections. It had come to a head when Junmyeon tagged along to shop for clothes before a trip to Stockholm for your cousin’s wedding, later finding you inconsolably crumpled on the dressing room floor, torn between your instinct to judge yourself and your need to accept the idea that nothing that is merely skin deep truly matters in the long run.
It’d taken somewhere over two years, with his unwavering support, counselling and physical training, for you to relegate that part of your overthinking mind down into the trenches, but you’d come out stronger and much more reassured about yourself — the idea that you were, above all, a soul deserving of love and care regardless of the body that contained you, has not left your side since then.
“I know”, Junmyeon says, leaving a sound kiss on the top of your head before you look up at him with a watery smile, for which he kisses you again, playful presses of his lips at your nose until you giggle and shove him away. “And I love you. You drive me crazy, and you’re so bad at doing dishes, but I love you.”
“Don’t bring up the dishes when you haven’t spring-cleaned your closet even once since we moved in together.”
He snickers at that. “What can I say? I’m a sentimental curmudgeon. But you love me like that.”
The gleam in his eyes when he professes his confidence in your feelings for him makes you weak in the knees, even after all this time, and you pull him by the collar into a kiss, his lower lip caught between both of yours. The street below carries with it the melody of an accordion, and he smiles against your mouth, hands travelling up your dress, settling at the lines where the silk ends and your skin begins, the cold of his rings leaving the slightest arch in your back. It only makes you tug him back to you again, intent on etching your name on the air he invites into his chest, fingers clutching at the blue satin of his shirt until it creases within your grip, an imprint of your indelible hold on everything he is.
It is Junmyeon who pulls away finally, dropping a chaste kiss at the corner of your mouth before winking at you and walking away towards the mini bar in the hotel suite, the collar of his shirt still rumpled from your grasp on it earlier. “If we’re staying in tonight—”
“— because you wanted to”, you quip without missing a beat, leaning back against the life-sized French window that brings in the muddled scents of sugar, coffee and impending rain.
“Because it’s in our best interests”, he replies, suave in the way he balances flirtation and factuality, “we better make the most of it.”
You watch him from your spot, attentive hands pouring merlot into two stemmed glasses, ripples of deep red kissing the insides of the vessels. Much to your delight, he’s been growing his hair out recently like he used to have it back in university, and you’d always thought that it frames his face so well. The overhead lights, dimmed for the mood, reflect off the sapphire in his shirt as he hunches over to return the bottle of wine to its place, the muscles of his back flexing from the action. You sigh and lean further against the window, as if to ice the growing heat of your skin against the air breezing in from the streets.
He doesn’t fail to catch you, even when you pretend to look away and take in the turning skies outside. “Since when do you get shy about staring at me?”, he contests, knowingly so, trudging back to you with helpings of wine for the two of you. “It’s not like I hate it.”
“When have you ever shied away from attention?”, you scoff, just to get back at him, and maybe to make him laugh in that one way that he does when you try to get even with him. “You’ve always thrived when people gawk and gape and drop their panties for you.”
Junmyeon presses your glass into your open hand, thumb purposefully grazing the inside of your wrist a little too long, then lets his arm fall to your side, the touch burning into the swell of your hip. “Even when they did, your panties were the only ones I was after. What do you think about that?”
Your lungs suddenly feel shallow, emptied of air and instead filled with a feral longing for him, even though he's right there, with words and touches solely meant for you. Choosing to rein yourself in, you sip your wine, lipstick staining the rim with a dark pink, casually letting yourself take him in again — and this time, his awareness of you is tenfold as you do it. “I have nothing to say for it, you made your choice”, you finally say, but not without the slightest of smirks concealed behind your glass. “You have to live with it now.”
“In case you can’t tell already, I have no complaints”, he says, stoking the already obvious sparks of desire, lips pursed in amusement. “Speaking of choices, care for a game?”
You perk up, easily excited at the prospect of a challenge. “You did want to make the most of the evening, so why not?”
Junmyeon leads you back out onto the balcony, hand firm at the small of your back, and you observe that the skies are now a silken shade of black-blue, occasionally rendered silver by streaks of distant lightning. His glass is nearly empty, so he runs back in and gets the bottle of merlot from before, then takes the chaise lounge across from you, looking resolute and ready for whatever he’s planning for the night ahead, his figure leaning over the table in careful curiosity. “Truth or dare?”
The next sip of your wine empties your glass by more than half, and your boyfriend eagerly tops it off for you as you consider your reply. “I’ll start easy. Truth.”
“Chicken.”
“Don’t be an ass”, you chuckle, “use your breath to make your question worthwhile, instead.”
Junmyeon leans back then, arms resting in his lap as he thinks, eyes slipping down the neckline of your dress in obvious interest, so you kick him under the table. “Question, mister man.”
“Fine, fine.” He scoffs, then tilts his head at you, the textbook image of mindful mischief. “You know how I feel about this dress.”
You turn away, drinking from your glass, shoulders rising in recollection — you’d been out to get something for a high-profile work dinner Junmyeon was taking you to, much to your complaint because you weren’t looking to spend money on something so grandiose that it’d only be fit for fancy evenings like this one, and while your work also takes you places, no authorised affair on their end required you to dress up in anything besides your usual formals and trusty black dresses. Regardless, your boyfriend had decided to play at being a sugar daddy and buy you ‘whatever your eyes stayed on more than five minutes’. The kind lady at the aisle you were roaming had shown you towards the new arrivals from earlier that day, and you’d been riveted by the flattering lines and the silken sheen on the white dress. Junmyeon had looked stricken when you’d held it up for him, bouncing off to the trial rooms before he could say much else. Seconds into fitting into it, you’d been greeted with borderline frantic knocks and when you opened it, he’d crowded into you, gently pushing you back in before closing the door and locking it. Turning you around so your back was against his chest, he’d kissed along your neck, teeth pressing into the ridges of your collarbones, firm hands slipping down until they'd found the ends of the gown and dragging back up, finally settling at the curves of your hips, toying with the elastic of your panties. “We’re getting this, but you’re not wearing it to the event. Pick something else for that”, he’d said, looking at you in the full-length mirror up ahead, fingers sinking to the front of your underwear and teasing the wetness building there. “This one’s mine.”
You’re pulled back into the present when you catch Junmyeon laughing. “Earth to y/n?”
“Sorry, got lost for a second there”, you chuckle your thoughts off, echoes of heavy breathing and fogged mirrors pushed to the back of your head for the moment. “Come again?”
“I asked”, your lover says, smirking a little too brightly, all too soon, but tries to hide it behind his glass of wine. “What’s one thing you want to try in bed that we haven’t already done?”
Swallowing back the air that catches in your throat at his rather risqué query, you think carefully, but then, letting your deviousness take hold, you continue your train of thoughts while dragging the end of your stiletto along the inside of Junmyeon’s leg. “You and me, as always, but not in bed”, you reply, curt and unbelievably calm for the kind of words that had just left your mouth.
It’d be a vague response for most people, yes, but Junmyeon isn’t most people: if by ‘not in bed’, you’d meant the kitchen, the couch or the shower, it would make no sense, because those bases had long since been covered, repeatedly so. Which means.
“It’d be fun”, you continue, draining the rest of your wine in the glass. “To wonder if people can see and hear how good you make me feel.”
The farthest that things had ever gone with the two of you beyond the bedroom was in that damn changing room a year and a half ago: it’d been intense, and you’d come out of there dishevelled and giving off obvious signs of someone who had just had the time of their life — but it’d ended with him making you come hard enough to scream behind his hand over your mouth, and nothing more. Hence, given your undying appetite for him, you’d lived with your secret wonderments since then — how he’d take to this idea of yours, how he’d react, and if it ever comes to pass, if it’d be as primal and ardent as you imagine it to be with him.
You pause when Junmyeon catches your wandering foot between his legs, holding it there while his gaze spans over the entirety of you, and then lets it drop back to the floor. “Your turn”, he says, quieter than before.
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Chicken.”
“Touché”, he fires back, a pearly grin carved onto his face. “Maybe I’m in the mood for candour as well. Who knows.” Leaning in over the table, Junmyeon refills your glass, then his own. “Do your worst.”
You lean back in your chair conspiratorially, sipping your merlot and holding his gaze, so as to actually be able to think without letting yourself get lost in the labyrinth of how unreal he looks tonight. You’re biased, clearly, but he’s not looked so present and genuinely confident in a while, and you’re more than happy to be the sole audience to the way he could outshine every last star in the sky. There are spells when you’re drowned by your own pessimism, finding it so outlandish that he would choose you to share his heart and home with. During one of those times, you’d come home to him having fallen asleep on the couch, glasses askew and book upturned over his chest. Picking up the book, you’d found a page dogeared over a quote that was to stay with you for good:
Love him. Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?
Smiling, you set down your glass, then clear your throat to get his attention. “When was the first time you knew you wanted me?”
Junmyeon smirks at that. “You’re letting me win easy. We’ve talked about this, it was at the theatre society—”
“Not the first time you thought of asking me out.” Fanning out your legs under the table, you resume your little unsaid game of footsie with him. “I mean, the first time you wanted me in your bed.”
His expression shifts so quickly at that clarification, you’d think he’d seen a ghost behind you. But since it is Junmyeon, he recovers well, playing up his enthusiasm so as to not make you feel like you’ve indeed asked something that he’ll find difficult to answer. For a while in your relationship, keeping both your past experiences in mind, he’d been mindful of being too audacious about how he desired you. While that conversation was eventually had — because holy shit, while you loved it when he was the perfect gentleman, but there were only so many chaste cheek kisses and forehead pecks outside your door that you could’ve lived with.
“There has never been a time when I’ve not wanted you.”
“Let me make it easier for you, so you can be as candid as you’d promised to be ten minutes ago.” Never one to back down from a place of advantage, you persisted. “The first time you ever saw me across the way and thought, yes, I’d take her back to my place and fuck her within an inch of her life. Tell me about it.”
You see the visible gulp he does, the swell of his throat rippling as he swallows back air, and you’re slowly getting the sense that he might forfeit. Knowing him as closely as you do, you can’t imagine how sordid or embarrassing something would have to be in order to forever stay a secret between the two of you—
“About a month after you’d joined the drama club.” For some reason, Junmyeon now starts to look relieved, a chuckle lacing his words as he speaks. “It was a Spring Weekend lunch at Zeta Delta Xi. I had rehearsals, but Sehun and Minseok had all but dragged me there so they didn’t have to drink wine and eat spaghetti all by themselves. About three minutes into getting myself a drink, I found you on the other end of the room, with this guy holding your glass for you while you tied your hair back from your face. You weren’t looking my way, your arms were up at your head, and the pink dress you were wearing was backless. You weren’t standing close by any means, but weren’t far enough for me to tear my eyes off you.”
A frisson of guilt runs through you because if you’re not too inaccurate with your memory, he’s talking about the same afternoon as the one where you’d also spotted him — looking delectable in a white crewneck and a black leather jacket, ice blue jeans that were ripped at the knees and fit snugly around off his firm thighs as he sat at one of the high chairs with his friends. You’d purposefully evaded Junmyeon that day, choosing to all but glue yourself to your classmate, Jongin, to keep your mind off the seemingly ridiculous crush that had been taking over you.
“Then the dude said something and you laughed, throwing your head back and some of your hair came loose,”, your lover continued, “and he tried to fix it for you while you had your drink. My grip almost broke the glass I was drinking from, that’s how bad I wanted you.”
A bead of water meets the heated slope of your cheek as you listen to Junmyeon’s version of the incident, but you’re too far gone to care — all you think and breathe now is the image of him, draped in lust and leather, thighs clenched in need as he watches you from his chair with surplus interest and perhaps some mild envy. In all honesty, nothing had ever transpired between you and Jongin — he was a delight to be around, but neither of you ever quite got around to feeling or doing anything that might’ve resulted in a relationship. You’d stayed in touch throughout university, and even after, until he’d moved to Moscow to become a ballet prodigy under Bolshoi.
Nevertheless, you regard the man sitting across from you now, looking simultaneously tender and tenacious as he watches a slight drizzle fall over the streets, then turns back to you with pupils so black and blown out that you could see the balcony lights flickering in them. He then leaves his seat, stalking over to you in all but three steps. “If it were for me, you’d have been bent over the lunch table with my hands up your dress and on your tits for the rest of the afternoon. And if we still had time and you weren’t fucked out, I’d have had you on your knees for me, just to see how your hair frames your face while you suck my cock.” You’re pretty sure your mouth is hanging ajar by now, but he simply gives you one of his stoic smiles, a slight tinge of victory shining through it as he wipes a streak of rainwater off your cheek. “But I’m a patient man at heart, and I wanted you as more than just a good lay. Always have, always will.”
“My turn”, you somehow eke out, clutching at his wrist before he moves it away, far too ravenous to even consider the idea of losing his touch. “Dare me to do something. Anything.”
It’s raining steadily now, your curls coming off their updo and clinging to your face. As you try to shake some of the water off, you’re stopped in your tracks — Junmyeon slips his hand off your cheek, to the back of your neck, and with a slight tug, pulls you into him. His shirt has begun to stick to him, blue silk looking like he’s worn the ocean around himself for the night. Pulling out the pin that was keeping your hair in place, he leans in, his thumb chasing a drop of water that trickles from your chin, down into your cleavage where the dress ends.
“I’ll make it easy for you”, Junmyeon whispers into the corner of your mouth, breathing onto your skin and leaving trails of fire in its wake. “Kiss me.”
You’re thrown into a desirous haze thereafter, because his grip on your neck and his mouth against yours is a drug unlike any other. He shivers and almost arches into you when you slip your hands under his shirt, the rain heightening turning every touch and thought into liquid heat. You think you’ve surpassed every possible level of longing for him by the time his lips even reach your sternum, and you gasp into the drizzle covering the both of you when he pushes you back, holding you down against the balcony table.
“Tell me you meant it”, he rasps, water clinging and dripping off the ends of his words. “What you said earlier. About wanting to know how it’d be.”
You notice how he keeps losing his mental compass as he speaks, sights invariably slipping to your chest where your dress has soaked through to the skin. Hooking a finger onto the buttoned end of the shirt, you pull him even closer, and armed with a sudden burst of courage, you take both his hands and cup them onto your breasts, pushing them downward until the dress slides off, until it stops at the swell of your belly. The white lingerie you were wearing underneath is translucent from the rain, and you unhook it from the back, letting it fall to the floor. You might be bare for all of the world to see, but you only ever want his eyes on you.
“I hope you can tell”, you whisper, leaning in to sip the rain off his jawline, “that I only ever say what I mean.”
Something breaks open in Junmyeon then, because he doesn’t hold back in the slightest thereafter. Fingers clasped around the flesh of your naked waist, he puts his mouth on your breast, teeth pressing onto your hardened nipple until you cry out. His other hand shoves the rest of your clothes down, until you’re only covered at your lower half. Despite your daze, you somehow still manage to tug at his drenched shirt until he gets the hint and unbuttons it, letting you throw it off his arms when he’s done. Already, even in the muddled light of the balcony, you can see the marks blooming along the line of your sternum, and by the time his tongue reaches your lower belly, you’re breathless, looking down at him from behind your dripping lashes as he purposefully holds your gaze and bites down on the supple skin there.
“It’s my turn now, right?”, he grunts, “give me a dare.”
If you had any restraints left in your system, he’d just about done away with them with those words. “Taste me”, you say, hand firm at the back of his head where his hair has grown into soft waves. “Make me come with your mouth.”
“Right here?”, he replies, nose pressed to your panties as he speaks, teeth biting onto the lace until it gives way. You groan, head thrown back as he kisses you there, but a prompt smack to the inside of your thigh flings your eyes back open and makes your knees buckle. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Right here. I want you right here, I don’t care who sees.”
The first swipe of his tongue against your clit has you keening, and your knees almost knock into his face but he holds them still, knuckles pale as he keeps you where you are. “You’d drown me if you got any wetter”, he says, hot breath against your core making you squirm closer to him. “My very own water nymph.”
He then shifts his grip to the backs of your knees, urging you to sit on the table you were leaning against, and when you’re settled, he veers up to let one hand squeeze your breast. You hold onto his wrist, enjoying the sensations brewing in you — the chill from the rain, paired with his touch, driving you towards madness swifter than you’d have ever imagined, and your moans get mixed with his own as he basks in the passion that only he gets to share with you.
“I could get off just from this”, Junmyeon says, pulling away from your cunt for a breather, but replacing his mouth with two of his fingers to continue moving you towards your orgasm. Curving them into you, he then laps at your clit, lips wrapping around it to savour you further. “Watching you fall apart. Because of me.”
“Don’t stop.” You’re practically holding onto the table for dear life by then, tasting the rain on your tongue as you speak. “You’re so good to me, please don’t stop.”
His fingers become relentless at that, and he continues to please you like you’d oh so sweetly begged for. “Feels good, baby? You wanna come?”
You nod frantically at that, clutching at his scalp almost painfully because every movement he makes carries you just that much closer to your release. “I’m close.”
“Good, because”, he says, pausing midway, and then does something he’d never done before — his teeth press onto your swollen clit, and your back bows off the table immediately, like an arrow flung into space, and you’re coming with a prolonged cry of his name, gushing liquid heat on and around his open mouth. He takes it all, broad sweeps of his tongue licking you clean, and you keep spasming around his fingers that are still inside you, the hardwood table beneath you rocking from the impact. You inhale deeply, lungs burning for air, and realise that the rain has stopped now. Managing to detach from the surface you were on, you look down and Junmyeon is still there, lips and chin glistening with your cum, wet kisses pressed to the inside of your thighs to soothe you. “I wanted to try and see if that works”, he says, grinning against your skin.
Despite your shallow breaths and your unkempt being, you sputter out a laugh , then urge him to get off his knees. “You’re literally so stupid”, you say, before kissing him soundly, tongue licking into his mouth and tasting yourself there. “For making a joke after making me cum hard enough to pass out.”
Junmyeon, in a blatant display of strength, then drags you off the table and carries you into the suite. “You’re so wet”, he jests again, “and the rain is responsible for only some of it.” Almost as if on cue, his legs fold, and you scramble off him, laughing with reckless abandon as soon as your feet touch the ground. He looks miffed, but chuckles anyway, rubbing his thighs for effect. “My legs were gone by the time you came, okay? It’s cold out there.”
“My knight in shining armour is getting old, huh?” You giggle, but hold onto him, because your own balance is not to be fully trusted just yet, thanks to his … skills. “Wanna lie down, good sir?”
“Running your mouth a little too much, huh?”, he says, a mild warning to his tone, before picking up an unused towel off the edge of the bed. Running it over your head, he dries your scalp off the residual rainwater that was still there. “As if you weren’t just screaming my name on an open balcony in the middle of Paris.”
You subdue yourself a little at that, then let your hands travel down his pants. They’re wet from kneeling on the rain-covered floor, but you still feel him there, half-hard and warm. “It’s my turn again, so you can dare me to do something that shuts me up”, you whisper into the crevice of his neck while he’s still drying your hair. He pauses then, towel falling off your head as he tugs you back into himself, thumb coming up to caress your cheek, then settling at your lower lip, almost as if asking for permission.
“If you weren’t so prone to falling sick, I’d have made you do it outside.” His fingers slip down to your throat, then grip it just slightly, just enough to make your eyes widen and your breath falter. “Would’ve asked you to strip me down and suck me off.” He then picks the towel off the floor and covers you with it, because you’re naked and still drenched. “But I’m a gentleman, after all.” He fucking winks at you, goes off to kindle the bedroom fireplace, and tilts his head at the armchair in front of it. “Warm up, I’ll get us some clothes.”
Before he could tread off, you pull him back, and walk him back towards the chair instead. “I think we'll be just fine for now. Give me a dare.”
Effectively shoved into his seat, Junmyeon watches you kneel in front of him, dragging your hands up his thighs as he thinks of what to say next. As you lean up into him, your towel falls off, and he eyes the ample curve of your ass as you undress the rest of his outfit, bare breasts brushing the insides of his dress pants. “I so want to just have you on your back”, he breathes out, “right here on the floor, and fuck you into next week.”
“That’s not a dare”, you smirk, tugging at his waistband until he gets the hint and shifts his hips, letting you pull them down his legs. “Try again.”
Now completely naked, Junmyeon lets you have your way for a while, your hand gripping the length of his shaft and stroking a little too slow for his liking, but making him gasp for air just the same. Your mouth follows after, licking around the head of his cock until he’s all but lying flat within the confines of the armchair, abs clenched as he tries not to lose it already, hand groping at your hair for more.
“I’ll come”, he exhales somehow, “if you keep doing that. I’ve been holding back for quite some time.”
“Then make me do something else”, you reply, tongue swiping along his length as he watches you, lips pink and teeth-bitten. “If not, then I’ll choose my own dare.”
Your lips wrap around his cock immediately after, and he keens into the backrest with a groan, the velvet heat of your mouth like a cliff he stands at the edge of before he inevitably falls over. Hair haywire from his fumbling touches, you hollow out your cheeks before taking him all in, breath heavy and nasal as you hold him at the back of your throat, feeling his thighs tremble on either side of your face, before he’s pushing at your shoulders, pulling you off his cock, watching the teary edges of your eyes and the strands of spit drooling off your chin, then kisses you deep and hard, his tongue against yours like the blade of a knife.
“Lie back. Right there. The bed’s too far.” When you scoot to the spot near the fireplace, he clambers over, pushing the towel under your back, his expression shifting from pure lust into something so deeply devoted that it makes your toes curl. “Carpet burns. Let’s avoid them”, he whispers, a fond smile looped around his words.
“Hey”, you blurb, pulling him in close by the arm until he’s flush against your front, on top of you. “I love you.”
Junmyeon finds his place between your legs, your knees on either side of his flexed back as he holds himself above you, his thumb running along the blush that’s colouring your cheekbone. “Not more than I love you. Wanna try something? Since you wanted a dare?”
You nod, breath heavy in anticipation, and he inches further until he’s straddling your belly. “Squeeze your tits for me, sweetheart”, he says, before leaning in for a quick kiss, then pressing the leaking tip of his cock into your cleavage and thrusting carefully, the friction burning against the tender flesh there and making you throw your head back in ecstasy. When he’s found a steady rhythm, he adds his own hands to the mix, toying with your hardened nipples.
Leaning back into him, you watch as he fucks your tits, brows clenched in pleasured restraint. Feeling devious, you open your mouth, letting your tongue lap at his cock every time he thrusts towards your face, and he grunts before pushing even closer to you. “Baby always wants her mouth full, huh? Didn’t get enough earlier?”, he rasps.
“Never enough”, you manage, grinning as you lave his cock with your mouth until he pulls away, making you pout.
“Your turn now”, Junmyeon says, settling back between your legs, his shaft grazing your clit every time he moves, and when you buck your hips up for more, he presses you back down onto the carpet, your thighs pinned down under his grasp. “You gotta ask nicely, sweetheart. In words.”
You sigh. “You know what I want.”
“Ask”, he whispers, voice and words sweet enough as he kisses along your neck, making you moan with the occasional bite of his teeth that, you know, will show up in the mirror come tomorrow morning. “And you shall receive. Anything you need.”
Relishing the luxury of his mouth, you think, and right as his attention reaches back to your breasts, you tug at the back of his hair, enjoying the way it makes his groin push into yours. “Remember how you said you love me?”
“As if I can ever forget”, he jests, then kisses the corner of your lips fondly. “Yes, I do. What about it?”
“Just for tonight”, you say, playing with his gold tiered chain that dangles from his neck, grazing your breasts when it moves. “Fuck me like you hate me. Can you do that?”
Junmyeon physically jolts against you at that, leaning away to look at your face, and then his mouth pulls into a blatant smirk. “A dare is a dare, I guess.”
Before you can even blink, your knees are being folded back into your chest, and one of your hands is clasped to his above your head. His other hand clamps onto your thigh, and then he’s inside, robbing you of all the air in your lungs. The pace he sets is borderline punishing, and you cry out with every thrust. “That’s what you want? To be taken like a harlot?”
You laugh out in pleasure, nodding against his cheek as his face tucks into your neck, fucking you into the floor with everything he has. “Your harlot. Because no one else gets to fuck me like this.”
“Shut up”, he snaps, feeling the full extent of what you’d asked for as your gaze shift into blissful obedience before falling shut. “Whores don’t talk back. They just take what they get.” He then grips your chin, thumb pressing into the groove of your throat like a warning of sorts. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”
Your eyes flash open at that, and you focus back on the familiar burn in your gut and the flex of his arm beside you. Holding one hand out, you tug him closer with a hand to the back of his neck, moaning into his mouth. “You make me feel so good. I’m close.”
“Already?” Junmyeon pulls out at that, making you rut against him in need, but then his hips lurch against yours, bottoming out in one fell swoop, your cry almost drowning out the slap of skin against skin. “That desperate for me, baby?”
“Always”, you sob in relief, “please let me cum for you.”
The blistering rhythm of his cock inside you, paired with his hand on your throat, has you teetering over the edge of oblivion. “Please”, you cry out again, “I’m so close.”
His own hips start to falter then, so you know he’s barely keeping it together until you cum. Locking your knees at the small of his back, you clench your walls around him, heels digging into his ass as he grunts and pushes into you like a man crazed for his high. “I’m gonna cum inside you”, he says, his voice a low growl echoing in his throat, and you feel the edges of your orgasm starting to creep in. “And you’re gonna take it like a good little slut, and cum for me.”
Nodding feverishly, you squeeze around his cock again, and he almost snarls when he cums, warm bursts of his release filling you as he furiously rubs at your swollen clit, making you tighten even further, and then you’re coming, tears melting down the ends of your eyes as you scream. He keeps stroking your clit until you’re sore, but you take it, still intoxicated from all the pleasure you’ve felt in a single night. A smile finds its way onto your lips, turning into a sigh when you feel him softening inside you, and then he’s kissing you, as if claiming you all over again, nipping at your lower lip.
“Hope I didn’t take it too far”, he whispers, suddenly shy from the earlier events. “I know you asked, but I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“You’re still inside me, love”, you giggle, pecking his cheek in understanding. “That wouldn’t be the case if I didn’t enjoy everything you’ve done tonight.”
Junmyeon is the man you love, but after all, he’s just a man, and he’s just as silly as they come. He slobbers you with wet kisses all over your face in pure delight, and you laugh through it, pinching his arm to make him stop. “You’re literally such a menace.”
“Your menace”, he quips, then sees you cringe — it’s his cum leaking out of you, onto what is probably a very expensive carpet that neither of you own, and both of you chuckle at that. “Bath time?”, he asks, kissing your nose.
“Carry me?”, you pout, “I can’t feel my thighs yet.”
Junmyeon shuffles you off the floor then, arms holding you bridal-style as he walks towards the bathroom. “As long as you don’t complain if I”, he pauses, then pretends to fall over, just to get on your nerves, “accidentally drop you. I’m getting old, as you’d said.”
“I hate you.”
“Say that”, Junmyeon grins, then graces you with another kiss before shutting the bathroom door behind him, “to all the people who saw and heard us fucking on the balcony.”
— author’s note 2.0: the italicised quote mentioned in the fic is taken from Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and Zeta Delta Xi is a society under Brown University, USA. neither of the two have been used as methods of plagiarism or association with real people and scenarios.
