mingyu thinks wine is infinitely sweeter and better when he tastes it from your lips.
his body presses back onto the couch as his mouth runs on yours. his warm hand is perched on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, leaving no room to breathe. his other hand runs small circles on your waist right where the hem of your tanktop ends. the way he hungrily locks lips with you sends a chill down your spine.
his fingers threaten to thread further up into your hair. a whine manages to escape his lips when he finds the butterfly clip holding your messy bun still in place (you’d put your hair up because you know it drives mingyu crazy and you’re not about to go to bed tonight, on valentine’s day for god’s sake, without atleast two orgasms.)
a deep groan from him escapes once more before he finally separates from you. you’re gasping for air, shoulders heaving as you breathe in and out rhythmically. mingyu’s hand falls to your waist, still keeping you close and perched on his lap. his sweatpants do nothing to ease the tension pooling between your legs, and you feel a familiar tent right under your thigh from where you’re straddling him.
“why’d you stop?” you manage to heave out, air rushing back into your lungs. kissing mingyu is always exhilirating and sends the best rush your body can ever experience, and it never gets old.
mingyu doesn’t reply, just reaches a hand up to the tortoiseshell butterfly clip perched on the crown of your hair, pushing the accessory open and pulling it away from your hair, letting your locks cascade down. he flings it somewhere and you hear it clatter on the coffee table behind you.
“you drive me crazy when i can see your neck, baby, you know that,” mingyu’s fingers finally make their way up and up, finally finding purchase somewhere tangled up in your locks and mussing it all over. he pulls you in closer again, his lips barely an inch away from touching yours, “makes me want to leave marks all over, bet you want that too, right?”
his kiss-swollen lips glint under the dim light, and you can’t resist but to leave a light peck. your palms float down to his chest, so close to each other you can count his eyelashes. his grip on your waist tightens, itching to just rip your clothes off that act as a barrier. “so why don’t you?”