Go For Broke | 05
Im Jaebeom x Older Female!Reader
Genre: Fuckboy!AU, Aspiring Songwriter!AU, Slow Burn, Angst/Humour/Smut (loads)
Warnings: Incredibly mature themes, Swearing, Explicit smut scenes.
Word Count: 6.8k
Concept: Premier fuckboy Im Jaebeom is used to getting his way. Though, he wants more, he craves more. He wants his music to be heard, he wants his music to be loved. So when he learns that the attractive woman he buys records from has an connection that’ll get him into the industry, he uses every trick in his book to get in. Seduction is his game, and he plays to win.
A/N: Sorry it took a while.
All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.
→ Mood Board → Series Index
Jaebeom was irritatingly easy to talk to. Even after you had both adopted loose grips on your almost empty glasses to curb the steady flow of replacements down to a trickle, it didn’t stop the admissions from spilling through your lips. Whether or not the Amaretto was at fault, it became increasingly hard not to answer Jaebeom’s questions; not when he seemed to drown in every word you said.
“So your brother’s agent and your father was a scout?” He spoke softly into the rim of his glass, Jaebeom merely smelled the fumes in lieu of taking a sip. And as if his eyes weren’t piercing enough; the hazy, golden reflection of the whiskey rippling just beneath his bottom lashes made them intoxicating; hypnotizing almost, provocative absolutely.
You hummed, gaze flicking to the ceiling before speaking. “Yup, Dad was taking us to shows before we hit ninth grade.” Jaebeom’s eyes flickered when your gaze shot to his, keeping solid eye contact when you spoke again. “And yeh, I agree.”
His nose scrunched in the most insignificant way, but his lips slanted just enough to show confused interest; urging you to continue. “They were questionable parenting decisions.”
You enjoyed the way Jaebeom’s steely demeanour cracked, for that one second where his eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled into his glass; pleasantly amused. Pleasantly amused by you. And for some reason you felt a small ripple of giddiness stir in your stomach, as if making him laugh was something you had set out to do all night, and accomplishing it felt satisfying. So you blamed your next admission on that, the words simply slipping through your smile that had Jaebeom’s name etched in its edges.
“But I loved it.”
“Until you didn’t.”
It was a loaded silence. A spine straightening silence. And you knew it was a baseless response from the lick of assumption in his tone and merely formed off his knowledge of who you were now. But to you, in that moment, it was as if he had sauntered into your little vault of secrets and rifled through that one unlocked filing cabinet and started skimming through the file of the life you once lived. Dot points of your past decisions laid out in front of his scrutinizing eyes and it made every ounce of air in your lungs thick and sticky. And words started to form on your tongue but none of them fit together, and somehow you knew that Jaebeom could see it.
“So why’d you quit?” It could have sounded interrogative, but there was something in the way Jaebeom looked at you that made it sound like polite curiosity. Your eyes dove to the corner of the room, and searched for the right answer in the corner of your memory.
“I didn’t… I didn’t like playing God.” Your teeth ground together saying those words and Jaebeom’s eyes narrowed at the sight. “I didn’t like… “ A sour taste started to pool in your mouth, a bitter resentment; so you swallowed the rest of your diluted cocktail to wash down the taste. “I didn’t like having this false power to decide whether someone was good enough or not.”
Jaebeom inhaled slowly. “Clearly some people aren’t good enough, though.”
You exhaled sharply. “And some people are, and they still don’t get signed.”
Jaebeom sat up straighter, swallowing quickly to say something but there was something in your eyes that stopped him. Something in the way your jaw clenched, as if years of bad memories were uncontrollably bubbling up but they were too hard to say out loud. Your chest rose with a long and heavy breath and your eyes drifted to the stage. Jaebeom’s stare remained on you.
“People stand on that stage and back themselves with skill and dreams alone..” You could feel your eyes dilating and your fingers curling into your hands. “Who sing or rap or play an instrument so well that there could be no other explanation than having been given that talent from God or whatever..” Your tone was rising to a slightly elevated level of hysteria. “And they still don’t get signed and it’s.. It’s..” You could feel your nails digging into your palms and caught Jaebeom’s wide eyes. You released the tension in your chest with a sluggish exhale.
“It... doesn’t even matter.” Uncoiling your fingers, you laid one hand flat on the table and rested your cheek in the other. There was an uneasiness in Jaebeom’s eyes - an internal turmoil evident in his knitted brows and it distracted you from your own restlessness. Mainly because it looked like he was trying to make a decision about you, or even more, a decision about himself. But that was neither here nor there when he slowly lowered his glass, knuckles grazing yours when he leaned forward to rest his other forearm on the table.
“But I take it you’re happier now, yeh?”
You hesitated.
“Umm, I--”.
His fingertips were ever so slightly smoothing against his glass, the consequence of which were the softest of caresses against your knuckles that gathered all your scattered attention from every corner of the room to the tiny wrinkle beneath his left eye. And in any other circumstance you never would have noticed, but the way his expression read concern and how every nerve in your body fired every time his knuckles glossed over yours left you with no other option other than to tunnel all focus onto his face and for some reason to wonder how warm his hand might be if you held it.
Jaebeom tilted his head, a pout desperately trying not to reveal itself on his pink lips. And you felt that part of you snap once again. So you withdrew your hand from the table and lifted a beckoning finger to the keen eyed waitress who was definitely not just standing there waiting for you to call her over and gave a curt smile when she immediately strode to the bar. Dragging your eyes back, Jaebeom smiled; more with his eyes than his lips and everything but the table, and the chair you sat on and the glasses that reflected the soft light above you and Jaebeom, especially Jaebeom, started to disappear.
“I--” You coughed, feeling like the entire situation was caught in your throat. “I.. ahh, I guess so.”
“You guess so?” Jaebeom was demanding an answer. From the tilt in his lips to the teasing narrow of his eyes, the warning flags of danger waved in your mind but who were you, in that moment where Jaebeom’s resolute stare was holding you to account, to pay them any attention. Straightening your back against your chair, you felt no sense to deny him and chewed the inside of your cheek.
“What do you want me to say?” A small and timid laugh escaped you. “That I love my little store? That I love being my own boss? That I’m happier now despite the sizable pay cut I gave myself?”
“Yes.”
You swallowed thickly. Jaebeom’s sharp candor took you aback that you thanked the waitress for delivering your drinks at the exact moment you felt the floor begin to crumble beneath you. You slid her a tip, even though you knew you still didn’t have to pay for those drinks.
Jaebeom didn’t reach for his glass. Jaebeom didn’t move. He didn’t even blink while he waited for you. Yet your hand was curling around your drink, fingers tapping in rolling succession against the glass and every breath sunk heavy in your lungs. Though in that moment, where you felt his glare burrowing into your skin, you remembered exactly what you were there for. So you swallowed down the look he gave you with the amaretto on your tongue and set your jaw.
“Yes, much happier.”
Jaebeom smirked, and you felt the air grow thinner around you, the smog-like tension finally clearing. “And your brother’s artists, do their records make it onto your shelves?”
You both lifted the rims of your glasses to your lips.
“If they’re good enough.”
Jaebeom sneered and dipped lower in his chair, his knee brushing against yours.
“I thought you were done deciding who’s good enough or not.”
Sliding your foot up the back of his calf, your lips curled devilishly feeling Jaebeom’s leg jerk beneath the table.
“Yeh.” Admitting through a slanted giggle. ”But, right now I’m wondering if you’re good enough or not.”
You watched closely as Jaebeom clenched his jaw and cracked his neck and swore you could feel the heat starting to radiate from his body. You had struck a nerve. You had found that one little locked box inside Jaebeom’s ego and cracked it open with a simple flick of your tongue. You questioned him in the one thing you knew, well - quite highly assumed, he’d excel in and didn’t care for the consequences. And, by god you relished the feeling. You got drunk off the way he tried to conceal how haphazardly the cogs were turning in his mind. You wanted to bathe in that seemingly insignificant triumph and to see just how far you could push him.
And in a flash, roles were reversed when his knee pushed your legs apart. The side of his knee brushed against your thighs as his foot spread your legs, and your mouth fell open to the sight of his snarling smile. Yet, you did not retreat.
“It’s a bit early for you to decide that, don’t you think?” Taking a long sip, his eyes never left yours.
Heat swarmed between your legs, your throat cracking dry from his advance. Resolve flooded your body, fervour coursed through your veins and you watched your eyes grow dark in your reflection in Jaebeom’s glass. Clamping his leg between yours, you took your own sip; rolling the alcohol in your mouth as you felt his pulse against your skin.
“Well, we’ve got all night.”
Jaebeom yanked his leg back, pulling you closer to the table and closer to him. And all you could do was smile, with your tongue pressed against your molars and an aroused arch of your brow. Raising his glass to meet yours halfway across the table, Jaebeom spoke softly, growling almost; setting your skin on fire.
“Yes, yes we do.”
“What do you mean you won’t choose!?” Your voice rang shrill.
“I won’t. I mean - I can’t. It’s impossible.” Jaebeom crossed his arms against his chest, tilting his chin to the ceiling; defiant in his decision.
“Surely, you’re kidding? You have to be.”
“I’m deadly serious about this.”
You lowered your glass to the table clumsily, eyes wide and your bottom lip quivered; confusion painted on your face. Leaning forward to close the distance between your nonplussed expression and Jaebeom’s unperturbed one, your tongue licked the edge of your top lip before speaking.
“So you’d easily choose Queen at their worst over The Beatles at their best..“ Jaebeom nodded, pouring another shot of whiskey into his glass. “But you refuse to choose between Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder?”
“Yes.” He replied, deadpan.
“Really?” Your brow arched further than you thought it could.
“Yes.” Again he replied, tone flatter than before, lifting his glass to his lips.
“No contest, seriously?” You sat straighter, crossing your arms like he had before and quickly folded your lips between your teeth when Jaebeom drained his drink and slammed his glass down weakly on the table.
“Yes! What more do you want from me?!” Throwing his hands into the air.
Slipping down in your chair, you let your knee graze against his and clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.
“Well..”
A beat of silence passed before you both broke, comfortable laughter filling the space around you. A tiny dribble of whiskey spluttered through Jaebeom’s lips and you did your best to bury the snicker erupting in your throat but Jaebeom’s leg pressed firmly against the inside of your calf proved that you failed to do so.
It had become apparently clear that had you found a keen adversary on the other side of the table. For every tit, he returned with a well formed tat. And every smooth spoken insinuation was met with his own brand of cocky flirtation. But for lack of a better word, it was easy. And it was fun. More fun that you could have ever anticipated that at some point in the evening you had called over the waitress with a I-know-you-know-who-I-am ‘come hither’ of your index finger and asked her to tell Dommie to stop pouring cocktails and to give you that bottle of Hakushu 25 instead. No ice necessary. You made the decision to run the race hard and fast and Jaebeom met you at the start line with no hesitation.
During your entertaining conversation, or back and forth, or slick-tongued tête-à-tête - call it what you will; the line up of the night’s budding artists had started taking their turns on the stage. There was a jazz saxophonist. Then, a honey-voiced song writer, who despite trying his hardest not to let it, held a large portion of Jaebeom’s attention and watching him return to your conversation with haphazard delay was admittedly funny. So much so that when he turned back to tell you his thoughts on Miles Davis’ influence on music in general, he was met with a rather baffled look on your face; hidden slightly by your hand covering your mouth that wanted to giggle, but merely smiled in lieu of such. A genuine smile. But you wouldn’t let him see it.
A trio of rappers came next and Jaebeom snickered when he caught you hiss against your teeth, followed quickly by a large swig of whiskey.
“So that would have been a no from you, I take it?” Pressing with a cocked brow and you almost choked. Jaebeom merely licked the edge of his canine despite how cold your eyes were.
“I mean.. Their sound is not.. They.. well-- they weren’t what we were looking for, maybe someone e-else might like.. ahhhhumm--” Stuttering. You were stuttering.
“So..” You could just feel the pretension oozing off Jaebeom and it made you want to punch him. “You’re saying they’re not good enough.” Despite the marginal alcohol induced wobble that you felt bounce between your temples, better judgement prevailed when you almost threw your glass at him but opted for a napkin instead; Jaebeom merely swatted it away like a fly. And what made the pounding swirl of impending inebriation worse is that he said nothing more, he only chuckled. A knowing chuckle. A sensual chuckle and fuck, did it unnerve you.
“I’m curious..” You harped, a little too bluntly. “What do you do with all the records you buy off me anyway?” Good girl, that’s it. Throw him off. And it did. For the satisfied smirk he had held almost permanently in one cheek melted off to reveal a look of watered down anxiety. You saw his jaw clench beneath his skin and his eyes shook in the most controlled manner he could muster. His hand reached timidly for his glass.
“You obviously love music. And I can tell you know a lot about music. And you--hey don’t shake your head at me, I watched you cringe when that blues crooner hit that diminished fifth he should have hit the dominant fourth instead..” Jaebeom exasperated sharply. “And I know it wasn’t because it sounded off, it’s because it sounded wrong and you knew that.”
Jaebeom’s neck flared as he exhaled, slowly and it stuttered with irritation.
“And half the records you buy aren’t in the easy listening category. I see you choose from the same sections every bedroom DJ in this town chooses from.” He raised his glass to his mouth carefully, awaiting the words that hung dangerously off your soft lips.
“So what do you do with them all, Kid? What’s your shtick?”
Jaebeom’s leg bounced under the leg and it bounced harder when you pressed your calf against it. You held his eyes that didn’t drop to take a long sip from his glass and tampered down the twitch in your lips that wanted to smirk at his discomfort. Moments passed in loaded silence. The trio of rappers had cleared the stage and the lights dimmed in preparation for the next act. Jaebeom still hadn’t answered.
You pulled your leg away from him and instantly felt his leg jolt to a halt. The hardened gaze he maintained slowly eased as if he had resigned to answering. But instead of pushing for it, you leaned back into your chair and picked up your glass. You knew you had nothing left to say, nothing left to add to press against his weakening fortitude and sipped patiently as he stewed. Whiskey rolled over and under your tongue and you watched as Jaebeom’s own tongue dug into the base of his mouth behind his parted lips. Then, you swallowed in unison. You on single malt, he on indignation. Whatever he was going to say, you were ready with bated breath to hang onto every word. Jaebeom shifted, cocked his neck and reached forward to pull the whiskey bottle back to his side of your metaphorical drawn line.
“I.. tinker.” Your back straightened, intrigued. “Mess around, make beats. Simple shit.”
“Just beats?” Your eyes narrowed and Jaebeom couldn’t hold the gaze; blinking away to carefully monitor the whiskey he poured into his already half-full glass.
“Yeh, beats..” He paused, watching the ripples in his glass slow to still. “Sometimes full tracks. I’d layer samples with stuff I recorded, it’s not a big de--”
“So the Kid’s a bedroom DJ, on my god...” Cutting him off, voice feathering by your own laughter; too incredulous to listen to the rest of what he had to say; the wide grin on your face not mirrored in the slightest on his. Jaebeom grizzled, dulled only by your fluttering snickers. “Man, and to think I had you all worked out.”
Jaebeom scoffed, loud and almost cruel. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
His voice chilled you to your core. To the deepest place within you, you could feel it like ice hardening your veins and every breath moved like sludge in your lungs. Your eyes had blown wide, pupils shaking and you felt the threat of tears burn across your bottom lashes. And through your panicked stare, Jaebeom matched it with his own; eyes locked on yours in a desperate attempt to understand why you had suddenly frozen; all colour drained from your face. For it wasn’t his voice that shot through you, it was his.
That voice. That smooth and lilted voice, that held just enough gravel in it that you could feel it roll down the back of your throat whenever you used to listen to it. That voice that whispered compliments into your just awoken ear and made you tremble when it growled against your skin. That voice that pooled between your thighs and hung drifted in your thoughts. That voice that slowly stole your confidence when it belittled you, that voice that quickly fed you lies. That voice that made you trust him. That voice that used you; that used your connections, your past against you. That voice that stepped on your heart like it was nothing to build his career. That voice that slammed the door in your face once his contract was signed and his first single released. That voice that ruined you. That voice, his voice. And it was his voice that made your fingers claw at your glass to drain the remaining whiskey down your throat. And for the first time that night, it burned.
Swallowing hard on so many things, you stood from the table. Jaebeom followed you only with his eyes, and you set your jaw hard enough that you swore Jaebeom could feel it.
“Let’s get out of here.” Cold, distant, enraged. Jaebeom sat confused, until your eyes flickered for the smallest of moments to the man on stage who was thanking the crowd for all the support they had always given him, and that he wanted to come back to the first stage he had ever performed on to celebrate the release of his second album.
“You wanna leave?” Jaebeom asked, if only to confirm, but he was quick. Jaebeom was already shifting off his seat when your body tensed and contorted to the giggle that reverberated through the speakers.
“Yes. You wanna continue this somewhere else, or are we done?” You had become reckless. The calm, collected demeanour you sported was gone, shattered and dispersed, and what stood before Jaebeom was a vessel of raw emotion. Raw emotion, seething and charged; and as you watched Jaebeom stand to face you squarely, his hand reaching behind you to pull your jacket off your chair, you decided to just fuck logic.
No further than half a step behind, Jaebeom’s hand ghosted the small of your back as you weaved quickly out of the bar. Once outside, the eleven-eighteen-p.m air stung your skin and you slipped your jacket from Jaebeom’s outstretched fingers.
Standing before you, Jaebeom merely waited; one hand in his pocket, his analyzing eyes laid soft upon your face.
“Your place or mine?” Your question pushed Jaebeom slightly off balance, his weight shifting between his feet before he steaded. You remained stoic. He quickly met your stance.
“Either. How far is yours?” An insignificant hitch in his voice.
“Nine blocks. Yours?” Your tone made of liquid steel.
“Five.”
Headlights of passing cars illuminated the curiosity and unwavering intention in Jaebeom’s eyes. Taking a step towards him, his breath danced across your top lip; not blinking even once when something inside you stirred, that same something threatening to snap. But you held tightly onto whatever it was and drank the way his jaw clenched when you pressed closer to him. Your lips parted, he inhaled, your fingertips brushed against his knuckles and you saw a spark set off behind his dark eyes.
“Take me there.”
Was it one bottle or two? Probably two but one was tequila because you were sure you could taste white wine clinging to the sides of your cheeks. And who even suggested tequila? You don’t like tequila but Jaebeom seemed to from the faintest recollections you could remember him ripping off the lid to pour some heavy handedly into two glasses perched neatly on his coffee table. One of them now firmly gripped in your hand as your other traced timid lines across the top of his dresser.
Why were you in his bedroom again? Oh, that’s right. You wanted to listen to that original press Abbey Road vinyl you begrudgingly sold to him over a year ago and Jaebeom told you, through the most endearing of slurs, that you’d find it on the shelf under his window. That way? You asked, with a wobbly pointed finger, lips curled around the edge of your glass and rolled off his living room rug to saunter to where his eyes had gestured.
It didn’t seem right. How fucking tidy everything was. As if you were browsing through a virtual-reality simulation of what the ideal bedroom in an Ikea catalogue would look like; everything in his room was immaculate. And not even his room, but his entire apartment from what you had seen. Not a plate in the sink, or a picture frame hung even slightly crooked; even the remotes were lined up in a straight row on the TV unit. Nothing was out of place and everything had a purpose. A home that would give Marie Kondo an orgasm on sight. Everything was pristine. Except, maybe for a rogue collection of indoor plants in the corner of his living room that looked like they were clinging to life, but that was long forgotten when you were staring, far too hard at his record collection. Alphabetically sorted. By artist. And then sub-categorically, by title.
You were glad that B, for Beatles-comma-The, came quite early in the alphabet and that A, for Abbey Road, was unsurprisingly first to pick when you weren’t even sure how you were managing to read the small font on each of the ridiculously thin vinyl covers when you could hear your own heartbeat vibrating off your eyeballs and you could smell tequila on every exhale that came out of your nose.
Record player? Where was the record player? Ah, obviously on top of the shelf, right where it should be - next to the records. Who the fuck was this Kid?
“Found it?” Jaebeom bellowed, a thud following quickly after, then a grunt and a hiss with the sound of a few things hitting the floor ending with some mumbled words you couldn’t make out.
“Mmmmyep.” Drawled out and muddled with the sound of you trying to drink your god forsaken Patron Anejo and carefully place the fifty-one year old record onto the turnstile at the same time. Why do I only have two hands? Who thought only two was a good idea? I could get so much shit done with three.
Abandoning your glass on the shelf, you lowered the needle onto the spinning record; heavy bass began to pour into the room. The rolling drum beat and smooth lick of the guitar swarmed around you, clouding your mind and stirring your senses. Light seemed to bounce around the room and closing your eyes was the only thing that stopped you from toppling over. You could feel the stillness of the room around you, music surrounded you and your body started to sway to the easy grit of John Lennon’s voice.
Then, like the stillness of the room, you felt the air around you shift. A presence crowded you, warm breath spilled over your shoulder as a hand roamed your waist. Another crept across your throat, pulling your hair away from your neck, leaving pebbled skin to soft, wet lips to whisper onto it. The bass was hitting harder, the drums crashed into the suspended air and inside your mind as the hand on your waist slid down your hip and onto your thigh, fingertips playing with the hem of your dress, tickling the flesh beneath it.
It was the knuckle dragged across the inside of your thigh that drew the shudder to fall from your parted lips. And the guttural chuckle against the stammering pulse in your neck that sent one hand onto the wrist between your legs and the other into the hair of the person behind you. Gripping hard, you pulled them into you, closing the already minuscule gap between you. He chuckled again.
“Ugh, you smell so good.” Jaebeom’s voice shot through you like a drug; charging your nerves and coursing through your bloodstream. The groans that rattled off the teeth he had nipping at your neck felt like ecstasy pouring into your ears and you knew getting addicted was the worst thing you could do, but the way his fingers continued to travel up the inside your thigh clouded any better judgement you could have executed in that moment. His hand was resting on your throat, fingers gripping just enough to pull your head back to rest on his chest as his other hand began to play with the edge of your underwear. Your back arched against him, more of your neck exposing to his greedy mouth that licked a line from your collarbone to your ear.
“You feel so good in my hands.” Your fingers yanked at his hair, unimpressed with his teasing. And through the pounding music that flooded the room, and your whimpers that mixed into the air, Jaebeom must have gotten the hint. Nimble fingers pushed past the boundary of your underwear, sliding between your folds, his teeth sinking into your neck at the sensation of your arousal on his fingers.
You keened against his touch, arching your back further, grinding your pelvis down onto his hand. Jaebeom groaned, the tip of his finger circling your entrance before tracing up to your clit, gently pushing against it. Your body quivered and it edged him on. His finger began to pulse, rubbing circles into your clit at a speed that matched your ever increasing whimpers. Your fingers clawed into his wrist, but he stayed firm, switching to two fingers to up the ante; leaving you clutching for breath.
You were contorting to his touch, back fully arched against him, pushing your hips even harder into his hand. In a moment of lust-filled clarity, you released your grip on his wrist to snake it behind you. Finding his stomach, you felt for his belt, unbuckling it as best you could with your mind almost completely fogged by the orgasm charging inside you. Pushing your hand under his waistband, you felt him hitch against your neck, and when you found him hard you couldn’t help but smirk.
Wrapping your fingers around his length, you gripped forcefully; feeling his girth pulse against your hand. Hearing him hiss spurred you on, pumping him firmly inside his jeans while his fingers continued to work you. Steer you, lure you, push you over the edge and fuck, were you eager for it.
Jaebeom’s hand grasped tighter around your throat and your fingers gripped harder at his hair. His mouth left trails of wet messy groans down your neck and your voice cracked with every moan. You worked him faster, matching his pace on you; euphoria was racing towards you, ready to crash.
You were close, so close, body reeling and jerking with every firm rotation of his fingers on your clit, that when Jaebeom chuckled again, your body ignited.
“That’s it. Ugh, you look so good like this.”
Your eyes shot open. Lowering your head from his shoulder, you saw it. You saw yourself. And him. You and him. In his mirror. His hand around your throat, yours raked in his hair. Your hand coiled behind you, pumping him mercilessly, his other between your legs pulling you to climax.
But it was his eyes. His dark and piercing eyes, almost veiled by your hair that fell unkempt upon his face. His sharp and hungry eyes that stared at you in his mirror as he drew utterly sinful moans out of you. It was his eyes, carnal and impure and dripping with intensity that ruined you. And what finally made that part of you completely and irreversibly snap.
Ripping your hand out of Jaebeom’s pants, you spun around violently, catching only for the moment the shock glazed over his lustful eyes. His hands were raised, hung suspended by his shoulders, as you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tore it over his head; discarding it carelessly on the floor. Spotting the bed behind him, you slammed your hands against his hard chest and pushed him onto it. His body hadn’t even settled on the mattress before you were mounting him; hands ripping down his pants, freeing his throbbing dick of its cotton bonds.
“Woah, what the f--” Jaebeom stuttered and your body stilled. Eyes fierce and wicked, they bore into Jaebeom’s shaking stare and you watched a hard swallow track down his throat.
“Do you want me to stop?” Your needless question rolled off your tongue as your hands snaked between your legs, one pulling your underwear to the side and the other gripping him at the base and guided the tip between your folds. He only shook his head once.
You lined up his dick to your core and lowered onto him, filling you fully and wantonly. Feeling him thick and pulsing against your walls, your head dropped back to moan to the ceiling. Jaebeom groaned through gritted teeth and as you began to roll your hips on him, his hands reached to find purchase somewhere, anywhere on your body. One hand grasped your breast but you were quick to force it down onto your hip. His other reached forward, but it missed its target when you snapped your hips and lunged forward to curl your fingers around his neck.
His eyes were blown wide, both his hands now firmly clutching your hips as you grasped his throat firmer. Lowering your face to a mere breath away from his, you tutted; clicking reproachfully against your teeth as your hips continued their rolling onslaught on his dick.
“No. Touching.”
You felt Jaebeom’s adam’s apple roll against your palm, his tongue licking his lips as if enticing you to kiss them. But you turned away, moaning loudly in his ear and felt his hips buck at the sound. His fingers were clawing into your hips, and a consuming feeling was building inside you.
You bounced harder on him, feeling the coil inside you tightening and tightening and by the way Jaebeom’s eyes were beginning to roll into his skull, you could tell he was almost there too. The sounds you were making were filthy, erotic and Jaebeom groaned so loud you felt his entire neck rumble under your hand. You snapped your hips harder, unrelenting and as Jaebeom thrusted deep into you, the wave of delicious pleasure crashed over you, pulling Jaebeom into the riptide with you.
His body reeled towards yours, the lewd and obscene mixture of your joint satisfaction coated every atom of air in that room. Once your high began to subside you released your grip on his neck one finger at a time, relishing how he mewled beneath you. You pulled yourself off him, stepping off the bed and tilted your head at the sight of an utterly spent Jaebeom; limbs sprawled messily on the bed, his chest rising and falling in exhausted heaves.
“Bathroom?”
Jaebeom lifted a weary arm, one finger pointed lazily out the door.
“Down th-..down..”
“Down the hall, got it.”
Looking at yourself in the mirror, you saw an accomplished woman; feeling surprisingly sober and especially satisfied. You made quick work of your own aftercare, the perfectly lined up assortment of toiletries not lost on you. You figured they were sorted by necessity. Then sub-categorically by height. This Kid, you swear to God. Content you looked decent enough to face society, you exited the bathroom, but doubled-back; a tinge of consideration overcoming you. So you searched, and quite easily found a towel for the worn out Kid you left in the bedroom.
Upon returning, one eyebrow quirked as amusement swept over you. Jaebeom, in his half naked, disheveled, still semi-hard-dick state was snoring. Little nasally snores that started at the end of his inhale and trailed off into a sort of whistle in his exhale. You thought it was kind of cute, if it wasn’t slightly pathetic at the same time.
Draping the towel over his chest, because obviously there was no better place to put it, you simply left the room. No goodbyes needed. No forehead kisses or tucking him in bed. Casual. No strings attached. You hit it. So all that’s left was to quit it.
Your jacket was easy to find, draped over the back of his coach - it was your phone that proved to be the problem. Fumbling around Jaebeom’s living room, you eventually found it under the coffee table and proceeded to put on your boots and leave.
Turning and pulling the doorknob, the door opened faster than you thought; pushing you back a step from the force. Once fully open, you saw a solid man on the other side, eyes doe-like and almost startled. He looked familiar, though you couldn’t pick why; perhaps his shirtless torso and sweaty glistening chest was to blame for the lack of recall. But his mouth merely opened and closed, sound departing him as words failed to form on his tongue. So you simply gave him a curt nod and a tight-lipped smile and slipped past him; not looking back even though you could feel his eyes following you all the way to the stairwell.
You weren’t paying attention to the streets on the way to Jaebeom’s apartment. Rage consumed you and all you wanted was to be somewhere completely different and away from everything that haunted you. But as you made your way to the end of his street, you realised you weren’t very far from home. Not at all. Three blocks away to be precise. How had you never run into Jaebeom before? Not even an embarrassing supermarket interaction where your basket was filled with tampons and double fudge ice cream was in your history. How could you live three blocks away from him and never cross paths?
Ignoring the awkward coincidence, you soldiered on; enjoying the two-something-am air that you always loved and actually considered stopping by the 24hr convenience store for some double fudge ice cream.
But in the corner of your eye you saw a tall, slim figure approaching you at a pace you wouldn’t deem a casual midnight stroll. It was purposeful, it was determined and it was coming right at you.
You considered running, but the legs on that man would out-stride you in no time. You considered screaming, but no one gets up for anything in this neighbourhood. It’s why the rent is so good. So you stood your ground, ready to unleash all four of your krav maga classes on his sorry ass.
But as he drew closer and the streetlight started to reveal more of his round and beaming face; you quickly realised you couldn’t forget that smile even if you tried.
“Noona!” His long arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug you didn’t know you had missed.
“Oh my g--hi! Hey!” Hugging him back with all the force your tired body could muster, you smiled against his shoulder until he put you down.
“Oh my god, Y/N! What the hell!?” His hands were on your shoulders, shaking you slightly and all you could do was laugh while trying to muscle out of his grip.
“Yugyeom, dude, oh my god. It’s been so long, what the hell!?” Yugyeom smiled so purely, his eyes folded into little moons that had you smiling just as genuinely in return. His hands slid down your arms to hold your hands, swinging them in the air between you like the adorable giant man he is.
“I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, how’s dancing going? Have you picked up any contracts?” Yugyeom bounced on his heels, your body jumping involuntarily to match.
“So many! I’m choreographing for groups and solo artists now. I’m building my portfolio really well, just like you said I should.” You giggled, proud and happy for your long-missed friend. “But miss me? How can you say you missed me when you won’t even answer my texts?”
“Shit, I changed my number when I left the company. I’m so sorry!”
Yugyeom’s put-upon pout made you frown. Immediately letting go of his hand, you pulled your phone from your pocket. Yugyeom did the same and you swapped them wordlessly, an impromptu dance of sorts.
Keying your number into his phone, you left the name blank; knowing Yugyeom would want to save you as something uniquely special to him.
“Okay, here’s my number.”
“I can’t save mine.” Yugyeom said bluntly, staring down at your phone.
“What? Why?”
“There’s a passcode on your phone. You didn’t unlock it for me, silly.”
“I don’t.. I don’t use a passcode.”
Confusion knitted your brows and Yugyeom handed your phone back to you with a similar look on his face. Staring at the phone in your hand you examined the illuminated screen. The lockscreen, a photo of some abstract art you had never seen before. Shit.
“Noona, are-are you okay?”
A message flashed on the screen.
2:21am Mr. A JaeBOOM, sorry for the lateness. Of course you can have tomorrow off. Enjoy your date. And bring me a new CD!
One hand wrapped slowly across your mouth. Eyes darting across the screen of the phone that didn’t belong to you. And totally belonged to Jaebeom. Panic started to set in. Yugyeom was crouching in front of you trying to figure out how to help you but nothing could.
You thought you made it out. Sure, you’d see Jaebeom at the store but that was manageable. It was just one night. One night that was meant to get you out of your funk. One night that was successful in doing that. One night was obviously not successful in doing that.
That whole hit-it-and-quit-it thing, fuck that. Not when you have to go back to the apartment of the guy you just left passed out on his bed after topping him mercilessly for fun. The thought dawned on you, just give it back tomorrow at work. But it would be Monday, your day off - and now Jaebeom’s too.
You’re not that much of a bitch to make someone go to work on their day off just to be turned away awkwardly and then be met with your stupid face sheepishly giving him back his phone that you took by accident after fucking him and leaving him without even the curtesy of covering his softening penis with a blanket. Or a towel..
Either way, there was no other choice. You’d have to go back. With your ego swallowed harshly down and maybe some tylenol for the headache. Yours. Not his.
Either way, it was going to be painful.
You continued to stare at the screen, every part of you simultaneously wanting to explode and recoil into itself. You sighed, but it did nothing to calm you.
“Fuck.”
