MAYBE IT'S GOOD TO BE CRZY, ISN'T IT, BABY?
WARNINGS : MDNI, smut, unprotected sex (please be responsible), use of names : slut, sweetheart, baby, love.
Going backstage is a routine at this point, you don't even bother announcing yourself since you are well acquainted with the staff, "How's my soloist doing?" You wave at his make-up artist, standing on the sidelines.
"Still on adrenaline rush after mcountdown," His manager answers, handing over his change of clothes to you, "Chenle-ssi is still inside. It's better if you wait outside."
You wave him off. You'd rather just go see him first. He had done it again, made you go insane over him, his stage persona, his expressions but honestly it's just everything about him drove you out of your fucking mind. Chenle gives you a teasing smile before he leaves you alone with him, the star of the day, the hot debut soloist. He's standing there in all his glory. The tan skin, flushed and sweaty, holding a hand fan to his face, he intently watches the pre-recording, and his face blooms when he hears the chants of his name from the sunflowers. And you? You are just admiring him while he does his job dedicatedly.
The staff trickle out of the room one by one once they spot you. He hasn't greeted you yet and so you make it an advantage. You set the cake and the rose bouquet on the table and decide to sneak up on him but that guy, your boyfriend just turns, extends his arm, pulls you closer and wraps himself around you.
For someone who is high on adrenaline, he's awfully quiet. That's odd. One, two, three. And then the mask cracks. His lips meet the supple skin of your neck and a gasp escapes your lips inadvertently, "I'm so, so tempted to fuck on the couch right now." Nosing along your neck, he curses, "Fuck- you smell so good."
"And you smell like sweat."
Tossing his phone on the table carelessly, he picks you up and carries you across the room, "You like it, sweetheart. You can't even lie about it," his gloved fingers wander the expanse of your waist under your dusty pink sweater. You tut in response, "we areㅡ not at home!"
He laughs, shrugging off his blazer, "oh sweetheart, why are you stuttering then?" His cheshire cat smile somehow makes you red more than ever, "was it the stage? The outfit? Tell me, love." Your eyes flicks right to his gloved fingers and veiny arm. "Oh," his grin is smug now, "who knew my baby is such a sucker for gloves, hm? Should I touch your pussy without removing it then? Bet you would like it."
"Hyuck- please stopㅡ"
He removes the glove with his teeth, and throws it on the ground, "Why should I, love? You are the one being a dirty little slut, thirsting over my fingers and rutting on my thigh."
"I'm not a slut-ah" his fingers rub insistent circles around your clit, making you whimper in pleasure. He tsks, "Only sluts get this wet while they are being talked down to," his two deft fingers relieve the ache between your thighs, but the relief is soon replaced with raw pleasure, "now tell me. Aren't you my desperate little slut, hm?"
"Fuckㅡ ah, shitㅡ yes, whatever you sayㅡ ah!"
The words just slips past your lips and your brain doesn't register it at all, but you know you are done for when his mischievous eyes turn into something dominant, "Is that how you answer me?" Voice low and cold and a harsh slap stings your ass.
In seconds, you are pressed against the wall, clothes strewn on the floor and filled up to the brim. His hips snaps in a rhythm that he just knows that drives you insane. Your moans float around the room, muffled by his palm as he thrusts in hard and fast, uncaring and selfish, only taking, never giving and pausing right when you're about to fall apart. He is mean like that, and you love him like that.
Gripping your chin, he kisses your full lips finally. Your hand on his nape while the other claws his back through his tshirt. The knot in your stomach threatens to snap again, "Hyu-ck ah- 'm going to-" you mewl, arching your back and pressing against him. He groans, snapping his hips faster, "go ahead, my dirty little sweetheart. Come for me." The rhythm doesn't falter till your pussy clenches around him, tight and needy. His name slips past your lips like it's a chant.
"Ah- shit- sweetheart," he curses while he follows you after seconds, face flushed and even more sweaty than before, "filled you up so well. Keep it in for me, yeah?" You are too gone to care but he makes you respond by holding your cheeks and thrusting in slowly, "say yes, sweetheart."
"Yes, you- fuck stop-" a hiss leaves your lips and he presses a kiss on your temple, "yes, ma'am." He scoops you up in his arm and helps you get dressed without anymore comments.
You know this pattern now; you are so familiar with it actually.
Because he stopped now, doesn't mean that he's done with you at all. He's just waiting to corner you in the privacy of his home. It's pretend play of prey and predator. And you happened to love playing with him till he goes crazy for you.
: MYST
