𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤
He thought he could handle it. He absolutely couldn't.
---------
𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋!𝖬𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂 𝗑 𝖯𝖳𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨, 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗇𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 (𝖿), 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽), 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗆/𝗌𝗎𝖻 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆/𝗏𝗈𝗒𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 (“𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾”), 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒, 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝖬𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉.
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 10.5𝗄
𝖠𝖭: 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗄 - 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎!! 𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽
𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝗇
𝖱𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 🤍
---------
“Pretty pretty pretty please?”
You sigh exaggeratedly, throwing your head back against the car seat.
“Min, I’ve told you three times - no! I’m not gonna lay there for hours. I have my own exams to prepare for, I don’t have time.”
“But-”
“No ‘but’ Min. Go find another girl to do it, I’m sure there’s tons who’ll wanna say yes.” You take a sip of your coffee before an idea pops into your head. “What about that girl in the library who’s always eyeing you like candy? I’m sure she’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
The corner of his lips curls into a scowl. “Nah, she’s not right for my project.”
You shake your head, adamant. “Uh-uh. Not happening Min. Sorry. I really don’t have time.” A little guilt eats at you. “If you want I can ask around?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, broken only by your occasional quips at each other.
Four years of friendship have made you and Mingi so comfortable with each other that you can easily sit in silence, just as much as you could chat all through the night. Communication isn’t always easy though - he’s stubborn when he wants something, knowing what buttons to push and pawns to play to make you cave.
This time, you can’t though. This is final year exams, and whilst you know his exam is just as important as yours, that’s just it. Your exam matters too. As much as you wish you could help him, you just need to put your foot down on this one - you have your own problems to focus on.
You’ve barely locked the door to the dorm when he blocks your path to the kitchen.
“You haven’t found a client yet, have you?”
“What, for my PT exam? Nah, not yet.”
Whilst Mingi needs a live subject for his art exam, you’re in desperate need of a client for your own. You’re training to become a personal trainer, and your exam requires you to train someone for four weeks. The problem is that everyone you know has their own exams, and you’re too shy to ask strangers.
“What if you train me?”
You look at him like he’s grown a third head. “Why would I train you?” Your eyes roam up and down his body for a moment. “You’re already built like a god, you don’t need it.”
His cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink at your words. You’re not blind. Of course he’s built to perfection. But it’s never affected you the way others would be. The body to you is a collection of muscles, bones and anatomy. It’s functional, and impressive, and full of power. But you’ve never drooled at men for being built like him. You can recognise the hard work, but you don’t really find it sexual. He’s always teased you about it.
“I haven’t been in the gym in weeks. I’m out of practice.”
You scoff, moving past him to drop your things on the couch.
“Come on, think about it.” He says as he follows you until he’s mere inches from you, forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. “You need someone to train, I need someone to paint. We can help each other out. What matters is that you find someone and get results, isn’t it? It doesn’t actually matter who?”
You take a moment to think about it. He does have a point…
“Two hours each every week, minimum. That’s all we need anyway. It’s enough time for us to do what we need without sacrificing too much.”
You purse your lips, the pros and cons listing themselves in your head. He wiggles a little closer, like he’s forcing you to not think about it too much, and you give in.
“Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”
He starts smiling and doing a celebratory dance but you stop him. “Min, you need to be serious about this though. You need to actually show up to the gym. This is important to me.”
“Hey - that was one time, two years ago, and I really thought she was the one…” He sighs dramatically.
“Mingi!”
“I’m just kidding. I promise you I won’t blow you off. I know this is important to you, and so is my art exam for me. We won’t blow each other off.” He wiggles his eyebrows, leaning down against the back of the couch, caging you in. “Although if you wanna blow me I won’t say no.”
You turn around to grab a pillow, throwing it at him with full force. He doesn’t even try to duck, too busy clutching his stomach laughing to care.
Fast forward to three days later, you laying on the bench, whilst he hovers over you, barely focusing on your explanation of why his elbows need to be 45 degrees out and not 90 degrees.
You put down the weights, sitting up in frustration. “Min, I know her ass looks great but I need you to focus. I can still back out of our deal, you know?”
His eyes whip back to you, and you see them linger an extra second on your chest as a bead of sweat runs between them before they snap back to your face.
“I’m focusing. My elbows need to be at 45 degrees because I’m trying to maximise fiber activation and minimise excessive front delt movement.”
He smirks at the furrow in your brow when you realise that despite being frustrating, he wasn’t ignoring you.
“Fine. Then show me.” You swing your leg over the bench, getting up and motioning for him to take your place. “I’ll get the thirties.”
He starts to protest but you ignore him, bringing the weights one by one.
He does his best to not look at your cleavage when you lean over him to help him hold the weights. You can’t help it, making sure to hover a little longer, a little lower, just to tease him.
You’re not an idiot, you know he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking. But he’s Mingi. Your roommate, your best friend, and most importantly a bit of an idiot with a constant above average amount of testosterone coursing through his body. He’s perpetually horny, and you look good. It’s just science.
The first couple of sets are clean, you’ll give him that much. He wavers a little at the start of the last set though, and you immediately step in to spot him, like you’ve been training to. You don’t even think about it, it’s just safety, but he drops the weights instead, one of them bouncing off and landing close to your toes.
“Min what the fuck, you almost got my foot!”
He pushes you away, sitting up with heavy breaths. “Your tits were in my face!”
You turn away, hands on your hips, trying so hard to be annoyed, but you just end up laughing to yourself. You try to stifle it, but it grows louder and louder until you’re crouching down, unable to catch your breath.
“I don’t see what’s funny y/n.”
“You… Yo-” The words refuse to come out between your choked breaths, though you try your best to reign it in, long enough to speak. “You’re gonna paint me naked and you can’t deal with my boobs being in front of your face in a sports bra?”
His face drops and you resume your laughing fit, unbothered by the other gym goers giving you sideways glances.
It takes a few minutes to catch your breath, but you remember he’s not just here for the fun of it and you actually have an exam to pass, so you throw him an olive branch.
“Would you like me to wear a tshirt? Would that make you more comfortable?”
“Yes. Yes it would. Please.”
You shake your head but ultimately decide to be the bigger person, reaching in your bag for your favourite band tee.
“Alright big guy. Pick those weights up, I want another full set since you never finished the last one. Let’s go.”
To his merit, he finishes the session perfectly, not making any comments or getting distracted by your body. You get back to the dorm, both a little sweaty, but energetic - him from getting a good workout in, you from realising he can actually be right for your exam.
“I’ll go take a quick shower now and then meet you at the studio. What do you want me to wear?”
Your question is innocent but his cheeks turn crimson immediately as he scratches his neck. “Well, you… You’re kind of supposed to be naked for it.”
The realisation dawns on you and you snicker. “Right, oh my god, sorry. Genuinely forgot about that part. All good, I’ll just wear some lounge clothes?”
He nods, relieved that you’re so comfortable with all of this. “Yeah that’s perfect. Thanks. I’ll see you in twenty at the studio.”
“See you in twenty!”
You watch as he looks around for a moment, trying to remember what he was going to do, before a light goes off in his brain and he goes into his room to shower.
Boy is this gonna be fun.
————
The room is empty, lest for a brown armchair and a cream pillow positioned in front of a blank canvas where Mingi is preparing his brushes and paints.
“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”
He stands up awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, deciding to tuck them in his pocket.
“So… this is my studio. Well not mine, but, like, I use it often, and I have it booked for the rest of the day. So… yeah.”
You drop your bag next to the armchair, taking in the small room.
It’s odd, when you think about it. His personality is loud, and certainly eccentric enough to be considered artistic, but you’ve never actually seen him in his environment. You’ve seen him sketch and doodle at the dorm, he’s shown you some of his work - you even went to an exhibition he took part of outside of college. This is different though. This is… intimate. Like you’re seeing a part of him you’ve somehow never seen in your years of friendship. It feels almost uncomfortable - knowing that the man you thought you knew so well has this side of him that’s been completely hidden from you. Well, it’s not like he hid it on purpose. You’ve just never asked.
“It’s your area Min, you tell me what you want from me.”
He chokes slightly but recovers.
“I’m gonna need you on the armchair.” He starts, laying down to demonstrate. “The subject is boredom, so I was thinking you could lay across like that, and be kind of looking towards me but not fully, like when you spas out.” You laugh at his quip. “Here, give it a try and I’ll guide you so you know what it feels like when it comes to the actual thing.”
You do as he says, trying to replicate what he demonstrated. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel weird to lie down like that in front of him. The way he looks at you is completely professional though, and you’re mesmerised by this new facet you’re finding out about.
His hands adjust your legs, bending one to rest against the back of the armchair whilst he shifts the other slightly so it can swing off the arm. He grabs your hips and pushes them up on the seat and you try to ignore how it felt to be moved like that, as if you weighed nothing. He continues adjusting your position, moving your arm exactly as he envisioned so it lays in your hair whilst your head hangs off the chair lazily. He hooks a finger under your chin, adjusting the tilt of your face until it’s perfect. You can’t take your eyes off of him and his furrowed brows, noticing the slight shade of pink decorating the apples of his cheeks.
When he’s finished adjusting you, he takes a step back to check it from his seat, and there’s a moment of silence. Your heart is beating just a fraction faster, something you realise has never happened in his presence. Well, maybe at the very beginning of your friendship, but it certainly hasn’t happened in a while.
He clears his throat, rubbing his sweaty hands on his sweats.
“Okay, umm…” He looks around before pointing to the corner of the room behind the easel. “You can leave your stuff there. We don’t exactly specialise in live art so I’m afraid we don’t have changing rooms…”
You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine changing here - or, well, you know, stripping or whatever.” You laugh.
You sit up, already passing your shirt above your head and he whips around, looking at the corner of the ceiling to give you some semblance of privacy. The air is colder than you anticipated and goosebumps decorate your skin as you take off your underwear. Maybe it’s the fact that you know your best friend is about to see you naked, although that idea’s never bothered you before.
So you push the thought aside, making your way back to the couch and laying exactly like he just showed you.
“I’m good Min.”
He takes a deep breath before turning around, slowly, dramatically despite his best intentions. And when his eyes land on you…
That’s when he realises his mistake.
Not because you’re not what he wants for his project, but because you’re exactly what he needs. He doesn’t know what exactly pushed him to beg you to be his subject, because he can’t tear his eyes off of your body, and now he knows that’s all he wants to look at forever. He had his idea of what you looked like - you’ve been friends for years, he’s seen you in bikinis and tight dresses. But this - this is so much better than what he imagined, which in turn makes it so much worse…
Your skin looks so soft, your curves are heaven, and the way your eyes are watching him - he knows you’re studying him and that he’s failing whatever test you’re categorising him in in your mind, but he can’t stop.
“Are you gonna paint, ever?” You tease, and he chuckles, low, though it’s more breathless than he intended.
“Sorry sorry yeah. I just… you look good.”
“Thanks. Make sure that shows in your painting.”
It’s a lame joke given his talent, but the intended effect still lands and the atmosphere lightens in the room. Slightly. You don’t chat, letting him do what he needs to do, but when he looks at you, examining you for his sketch, you can tell he’s still tense. It’s like he’s trying not to look, and it makes you laugh inside.
Of course you understand it - he’s a good looking man, you’re a good looking woman, you’re both young and free to do what you want, explore connections. But… it’s Mingi. Where he sees sexuality in you, you see hard work in him. The body to you is an amalgamation of muscles, tissues, joints and bones, all working in one way or another to keep us alive. If it wasn’t for your sensitivity to blood and gore, you would have loved to go into the medical field - probably surgery. Personal training was the closest thing next to that to you. Understanding how the body works and helping people become a stronger version of themselves is your way of doing good.
So when you look at someone like Mingi, whose muscles are well defined and who obviously takes great care in how he looks, you don’t see the sexual appeal first. You see the work he put into it to get there. You think about which exercises he would have done to get each muscle, if he prefers running or swimming, if he’s an arms or abs guy.
Mingi is the opposite. He sees everything with an art lense. Bodies are a mix of intricate lines, like a giant fingerprint - every one is unique, and he likes to study them. He’s a ladies man but he never got a bad rep for it. He treats every woman with respect, because as fleeting as they are to him, they’re a work of art, and he treats them as such. At least from what you’ve heard from them. Inside the dorm, it doesn’t sound very respectful.
You laugh to yourself, making him look at you with a questioning look.
“What’s so funny?”
You shake your head, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Come on, tell me. I’m painting but I can chat. It helps, actually.”
You sigh, looking at the ceiling but he clicks his tongue. “Don’t move.”
You bite your lip to muffle a smile. “Sorry.”
“So? What made you laugh? Was it me?”
“In a way, yeah.”
His brow lifts, curious.
“I was thinking about how differently we see bodies. How I see it as functional and you see it as art. How you always treat the girls so respectfully, as word on the streets would have it.”
“And that’s funny because…?”
“Because I hear so much screaming and crying and begging when they’re over that I was wondering if you coerced them into spreading these rumours.”
You can’t help it, breaking into a new fit of laughter.
“Are you jealous?”
“Huh, what? No! Of course not. I just thought it was funny!”
“You’re not so quiet yourself miss ‘oh god please please please fuck yes’” He mocks in a high pitched voice, making you laugh even more.
“Is that supposed to be me?”
He nods, smiling to himself at your reaction. “This is, like, your go to phrase.”
“Okay, what else do I say?”
You’re genuinely curious now - you really thought you were quieter, but how loud exactly are you?
“Your second favourite is just crying. You cry a lot - whimpering to be specific. I gotta say, sometimes it gets to me.”
You scoff. “You perv!”
“It’s not my fault you like to let the entire dorm know when you’re about to cum!”
You both laugh at first, but then it settles into silence, his eyes trying not to look at you too closely.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it down next time.”
He opens his mouth to say something but decides not to. Curiosity points its nose but you push it down - now isn’t the time.
Time stretches, quiet, heavy, and you start to slip into sleep. You try to stay awake as much as you can, but exam season is kicking your ass and you accidentally fall asleep, awakened by your foot slipping off the arm a little.
“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.
You shake yourself, putting your foot back in its original place. “Sorry - yes. I nodded off. Sorry.”
He puts his brush down, pulling his phone out. “Shit, I didn’t realise how long I’d been painting. It’s been three hours.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. We can just… let’s stop for today. I’ve done enough and you clearly need rest.”
“No no, come on, keep going I’m fine.”
“Y/n. There’s no point in continuing to paint if you’re gonna jolt every two seconds. I’d rather we pick it up another day.”
You consider arguing with him to continue what he’s doing but he’s right. “Yeah, okay. Can you pass me my clothes?”
“Of course.”
He walks to the armchair with his eyes closed, arm extended holding your clothes and you chuckle once again.
“You’ve just spent three hours looking at me naked but you can’t look anymore. Is that your limit, three hours?”
“Shut up.”
“Come on Min, don’t be ridiculous. How many women have you seen naked before?”
“Many. But you’re different. You’re y/n. Behind my canvas it’s fine. Up close it’s… weird.”
You click your tongue, offended. “Gee, thanks.”
“No, I-”
“Hey, it’s fine, I get it. I’m like one of the guys or whatever. But calling it ‘weird’ isn’t very nice Mingi.” You finish putting your clothes on, standing up and grabbing your bag.
“I’ll see you at the dorm.”
“Y/n don’t take it like that it’s not-”
You don’t hear the end of his sentence as the door slams behind you.
You don’t know what’s gotten into you.
Usually you would have been able to give it back to him, like your usual back and forth, but this time it struck a nerve. Sure there’s probably hotter than you out there, but you’re proud of your body. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, and you have curves, but you love these curves. And no one you’ve met or been with has ever had an issue with them - because if they did, you never have let it get anywhere.
Maybe that’s why Mingi’s words stung.
As usual, you decide to deal with stress the best way you know how to - by smashing a workout and a cupcake within the space of two hours. When you return to the dorm, your mood is considerably better, and you opt to follow that trend with another shower. You just didn’t expect to bump into him with just a towel around you.
“Oh, sorry - I, umm…” He doesn’t know where to look, turning around to leave your room, but you’ve had enough.
“Hey!” You shout as you run after him, yanking him by his t-shirt. “What’s your problem?”
“What do you m-”
“Don’t play dumb Mingi. You know exactly what I’m referring to. Why can’t you look at me?”
He scratches his head, unable to look at you still. “Wow, two ‘Mingi’s in one day, huh? Must’ve really struck a nerve…”
You cross your arms in front of you, unamused. “You called me being naked ‘weird’, and just now you couldn’t even look at me. What’s the deal? I need an explanation and I need it now. I’m not leaving until you spill.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have a choice. Talk. You know how I am when I get angry. You don’t wanna be the reason for it.”
“No, no I don’t.” He winces. “In my defence, you completely took my words out of context at the studio. I never called you weird. Or your body. I meant…” He sighs. “I meant that with the canvas in front of me I could pretend it was just for my exam. Being right in front of you when you were naked was weird be-”
“There it is again!” You scoff.
“It was weird because it didn’t feel like it was for my exam anymore you idiot! And right now, I can’t look at you because you’re all wet from your shower and all I can picture is you naked and wet. You’re my best friend. I’m not supposed to do that!”
You stand there for a moment, taking in his words, before a smile breaks out on your face. “So… you were being extra awkward because you think I’m hot?”
He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well yeah, I have eyes!”
“Okay, but, Min, it’s nothing new. You’ve seen me almost naked more times than I can count in the last four years. And same goes for you! Except that one time where I actually caught you naked with that girl but all I saw was the back so I guess it’s dif-”
“Your point being?” He interjects.
“My point being that this shouldn’t be weird. And it is still for your exam, whether the canvas is between us or not. You’re not gonna see me naked outside of that room, and that room is only for your exam, therefore I’m only naked for your exam. That’s it! And remember - you’re the one who begged me to do it.”
“Urgh, don’t remind me…”
“But I will remind you.” You take a step closer, looking up at him under your lashes and letting your towel fall a fraction lower on your chest. “That’s what makes it fun.”
His breath hitches, eyes glued to the water beads decorating your skin, before you turn around, satisfied that the issue is resolved and you can be back to teasing him as usual.
The few days following this go off almost without a hitch. For the most part, the awkwardness is gone, but he does seem a little distant this morning after you both went out clubbing and you brought home a guy. You really tried to be quiet, but maybe you weren’t as quiet as you thought.
“I have some free time this afternoon Min. Maybe we can get a studio session in?”
He barely looks up from his phone, mumbling. “Yeah sure. Just let me know whenever.”
“Damn, was I extra loud last night or did you just wake up being mister cranky pants?”
“Didn’t sleep well from the workout, I’m fine.”
You study his face, knowing there’s more to it, but knowing also that you’re not getting anything out of him when he’s like that, so you just sigh.
“Let’s go now in that case.”
“‘kay.”
You get to the studio only a few minutes later and sit on the armchair whilst he gets everything ready, observing him. You didn’t get a good look last time, but his apron looks good on him - it cinches his waist in a way that reminds you how well proportioned he is. It’s easy to forget it when he mostly wears loose or oversized clothing.
“You’re staring.”
“Your waist is smaller than mine. I’m lowkey jealous dude.”
He looks at you from under his lashes, snorting to himself. “Your waist is perfect as it is.”
“I know.”
You act all confident and cocky, but somehow that compliment made your stomach flip. He often compliments you, but this one stuck.
“I’m all set, so whenever you want.”
“Cool.”
You jump off the chair’s arm, moving to the corner to strip, and you notice that this time he doesn’t turn away like before. He doesn’t look either, but his eyes do wander towards you, making you smile to yourself. He’s not nearly as stealthy and smooth as he wishes he was.
When you get on the armchair, you struggle to find the position again, shifting multiple times, before you huff from exasperation.
“Min, I’m clearly struggling here. A little help would be nice?”
He clears his throat, taking a second before getting up, making his way to you. If you thought seeing him tower over you last week was weird, seeing him do it whilst you’re completely naked is on another level. You’re not quite shy about it, but more… aware. He’s trying not to look, but it’s almost like you want him to? He adjusts your knee, making sure his eyes don’t dip down between your legs and your breath hitches ever so slightly.
“You need to, umm. Arch… arch your back a little more.”
You do as you’re instructed, keeping your eyes on him and his on yours, and there’s a beat of silence and tension that has your thoughts racing too wildly for comfort.
“G-great. You look perfect like that.”
You nod, licking your dry lips - a movement he catches - before he goes back to sit on his stool.
That was… interesting.
Just like last time, you proceed in silence - him sketching, painting, observing, you laying, breathing, observing.
Your back is starting to grow stiff due to the upper body workout you did this morning - and the ‘workout’ you got last night - and you shift for a moment, groaning as your muscles spasm. He notices instantly, brush stilling in the air.
“What’s wrong?”
“My back.” You mumble. “It kills.”
“Do you want us to stop?”
You shake your head. “No, I think I just need some water and to sit for a minute.”
“Of course. I’ll go grab you some, don’t move.”
He opens the door carefully, slipping out into the empty building, and you take a moment to breathe, sitting up into a relaxed position. It can’t have been more than thirty minutes since you started, and you need to make it at least an hour or he won’t ever finish this.
You decide to sit on the edge of the armchair with your arms closed for focus, hands behind you, stretching. The relief is immediate and you sigh with relief, moving your head side to side to loosen the knots.
The door closing makes you jolt.
“Here’s your water.”
You take it with a smile, humming despite yourself when the cool water flows through your oesophagus. Who knew being the subject for a live nude painting was such hard work.
“Better?” He asks, looking at you weirdly.
“Much. Thanks Min.”
He grimaces. “Don’t call me that when you’re naked. It’s weird.”
You roll your eyes despite yourself. “What is it with you and our relationship suddenly being weird when I’m naked? It’s not like I’m calling you some terms of endearment while we’re having sex!”
The way he’s side-eyeing you hard right now would have you believing otherwise.
“Is that what you’re thinking of when you paint me? Because I gotta tell you,” You start jokingly as you get back into position, “that’s not very professional of you Song Mingi.”
“Okay, that’s even worse.”
You laugh. “If I can’t call you ‘Min’ or ‘Song Mingi’ then what the hell can I call you. ‘Mingi’? No.” You answer for yourself, settling comfortably back into your designated position. “That’s only when I’m mad at you, which I’m not.” A smirk tugs at your lips as the idea forms. “How about ‘Sir’?”
His head whips up so fast his bangs lift a little. “Absolutely not. You’re not calling me ‘Sir’ whilst you’re naked. Or ever. Just - call me ‘Hey’ or ‘You’. That’s good enough.”
You shake your head in disagreement. “No no, I like ‘Sir’. It feels professional, which, after all, you are. Right?”
You’re pushing it a little, completely aware of it, but it’s just too fun to stop. He can give it back as well as he takes it, but you do often have an edge on him. Maybe he just goes easy on you sometimes, but right now, you don’t think that’s what it is. He just looks flustered, out of his depth, outplayed.
Another idea pops into your head, even more devilish than the last. The hand that was resting lazily against the front of the armchair comes up, slowly, caressing the path between your breasts, making its way further down your stomach.
The moment he notices you move, he stops, staring at the movement, breath suddenly growing shallow and pupils dilating. You don’t look away from him, completely absorbed by his reactions.
“Stop that.”
You ignore him, continuing to trace your fingers down to your core. It’s only to annoy and tease him you think, not at all because you’ve been pulsing there for the last almost hour of his eyes roaming over your figure.
It’s weird, because he’s been your friend for the longest time, and objectively you know he’s good looking. But that thought never crossed your mind.
You like sex, and you like men, but you never bothered too much about the physical aspect of them much. You appreciate the human body, and can recognise when someone has put work into it, but if a guy is nice and fun, then yeah, you’ll take him back to yours for the night. Not two of them have looked like each other, and Mingi’s always teased you about how you’re trying them all out.
But right now, having his eyes examining every inch of you with so much intensity, and being forced to look back at him, you notice the way his jaw clenches when he looks at certain parts of you, the way his leg is bouncing up and down with nerves, how he’s gripping his brush extra hard. And in this moment, seeing just how taut his muscles are at the sight of your hand travelling closer and closer to that space between your legs, it makes you want to try him out.
“Y/n stop it. Now. You can’t move while I paint, you’re gonna ruin the lines.”
You let your hand fall back down on the side of the armchair. A chuckle escapes you and he looks away from the way your breasts move.
“Sure Sir, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Y/n I swear to god stop calling me ‘Sir’.”
“Or what?”
“You don’t wanna find out.”
“Maybe I do.”
He just stares at you dumbfounded and you hold his gaze. You can’t pretend to not be affected anymore. His presence in the room makes him feel bigger than he already is, and the space feels so small, like oxygen is lacking - like it’s pushing you towards each other.
You get up before you can do something you’ll regret, putting your clothes on in a hurry and leaving without a word. He just watches you walk out, the image of what you almost did burned in his mind.
You stay in your room the rest of the day, desperate to avoid him. It was wrong of you to suggest what you did, wrong of you to feel attracted like that, and so wrong of you to toy with him in that way. You’re best friends, but this was blatantly inappropriate. There’s no excuse for it, and you can’t bear to face him.
But you also can’t get the image of his dilating pupils out of your mind. How his muscles tensed, the veins on his forearm popping out from the effort, his thick lips slightly parted as he panted, watching your hand move further down.
Before you know it, your hand is right where it left off, except that this time, you satisfy the urge you had earlier. Your fingers desperately circle the bundle of nerves that was pulsing before and small cries fall from your lips. You slam your hand on your mouth - he doesn’t need to hear this. It’s wrong to even be doing it.
Except that the images playing in your mind as your finger moves faster feel so right. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have seen him with that girl, because it ruined the image of your best friend, but gosh, imagining yourself instead of her feels so good…
The coil is getting tighter in your stomach as you think about the way he’d fill you up - how you’d be the one he makes cry and scream, how you’d beg him for more and how he’d give it to you. Your orgasm washes over you before you realise it, gushing out of you as your body convulses. You try to stay quiet but a cry or two pass your hand, and you hope for your friendship’s sake that he isn’t home.
You continue to ignore him as much as you can for the next couple of days, only interacting when needed.
Unfortunately, you had a PT session scheduled for this afternoon, and you can’t cancel it yourself as part of your exam - only the client can. And god you wish he would’ve. But he’s loyal and a good man, and you have an agreement, for which he’ll show up to no matter what.
That hour and a half is torture for you. You try not to engage with him unless giving him instructions or explaining things, and he can tell you’re being weird. You can’t look at the way his veins pop from the exertion without thinking back to what you did, or hear his grunts as he pushes through every exercise you give him without thinking that’s how he’d sound burying himself inside of you.
Your body is on fire even though you’re barely doing anything, but you can’t take your top off. You can’t think of the way he’d look at your cleavage the way he usually does like he wants to bury his face in it, because with the state you’re in right now, you might just let him.
As soon as he finishes his workout, you grab your bag and are about to leave when he holds on to the strap, wiping his forehead with a towel at the same time. You try not to look at the beads of sweat running down his face and neck, averting your eyes. Gosh, the irony - it makes you feel worse about teasing him about it the other day.
“Y/n, what’s going on. You’ve been weird since the last studio session, and we’ve got another one in two hours. I need to know if I did something because it’s too late for me to find another subject and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and drop out.”
You shake your head, still unable to look at him. “You didn’t do anything. Don’t worry about it - I’ve made a commitment, I’ll be there. I promise.”
You try to offer him your most comforting smile, but it lacks sincerity when you can’t look him in the eye for it.
He lets go of your bag, grabbing onto your wrist instead and you jolt, which he notices.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
You stare at his hand for a moment, before wiggling yourself free, leaving him behind once again as you mutter under your breath. “Not about this.”
The nerves you feel as the minutes tick by make you wonder if you can do this. You’ve done it twice now. You know how it goes. But this time feels different. Nothing’s changed about the situation. What’s changed is the way you see him. And he can’t know that. He won’t. You promise it to yourself. For the sake of your friendship, of his exam - for your own sake - he can’t know.
You hover in front of the door for a moment, staring at the handle like it was laced with poison, before finally turning it.
He’s sitting by his canvas, shoulders slightly slumped, and you notice instantly that he’s wearing a tank top underneath the apron. Of all the days, it had to be today.
“Would, umm… would it be okay if I kept my underwear on today? Or does that prevent you from painting me right?”
His brows furrow, confused by your question.
“Well, y-yeah, you can. I guess.” He stands up, coming towards you despite your clothes already having been discarded. “What’s wrong?”
His question almost sounds like a statement, like something you know you need to answer him for, but your throat is dry. You feel more exposed in your pale yellow set than when you’re naked, and the feeling of his eyes roaming with deliberate slowness over your body sets your skin on fire.
“I told you. It’s nothing. I’m having one of those days where us women feel a little self conscious.”
He takes a step closer and you back up, the back of your knees hitting the chair. “You’re lying through your teeth. I’m not painting until you tell me.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can. We tell each other everything. So spill. Now.”
“Urgh! You wanna know? Fine. Until last week, you were just Mingi. My best friend who’s always horny and who I tease about it and about a million other things. Then I went and pushed things too far. I made things awkward, and uncomfortable, and now I…”
He’s stepped even closer now, closing the gap between you until you’re forced to tilt your head up impossibly high to look into his eyes.
“Now you what?”
Your voice is small and breathless as it comes out. “Now I want you.”
Time stops.
His eyes stay locked onto yours like he’s absorbing the information, occasionally flickering to your lips. Your chest is heaving, too aware of the importance and irreversibility of what you just said. That’s why his words are unexpected, barely above a whisper.
“Kiss me.”
“W-what?” Maybe you heard him wrong.
“If you want me, I need you to kiss me.”
Your mind is blank, the words repeating on a loop in slow motion inside your head. All you can see are his perfect plush pink lips, the way they’re slightly parted for you, and you know without a doubt you need to taste them.
Carefully, you bring your hands up his arms, slowly shifting them to his neck as his whole body shivers, breath hitching at your touch. Your lips are so close to his now but you hesitate for a second, wondering if you’re doing the right thing.
Except that you don’t care. If this is wrong, then let it be right for a moment.
The moment your lips touch his, you know it’s over for you.
The swarm of butterflies inside your chest erupts without mercy at his taste. His hands wrap around you instantly, the direct contact on your waist feeling like electricity coursing through your bones.
He’s gentle, letting you guide the rhythm, but there’s an edge of desperation in his restraint. Tiny whimpers escape him with every kiss and they have your head spinning - so much so that you feel the need to break away, his lips chasing yours for a second more.
You’re both panting, your forehead leaning on his chest as you try to come to grips with what you just did.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
He pulls away, grabbing your chin so you’re looking at him.
“Why?”
You bite your lip. “All of this is so inappropriate… I shouldn’t have done any of it.”
His groan is loud as he throws his head back, before pushing you down to sit on the armchair. He leans down to your level, his hands now moving to your legs, and you shiver.
“I wanna see you finish what you started last week.”
You blink up at him. “What?”
You move to close your legs from the shock but his grip on them is strong, keeping them anchored right where they are.
“I want to see what you would have done if I hadn’t stopped you. What you did that night.”
His voice is breathless but steady, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of everything - his hands on your legs, his eyes on your body, his proximity to your core.
“I wasn’t actually going to… wait, how did you know?”
“I heard you. I heard how you breathed, how you sounded, I knew. And yes, you were going to. I stopped you because… because I know you don’t see the body like everyone else. To you that’d have been nothing. To me it would've been catastrophic.” He swallows thickly. “But now I’m begging you. Please, let me see you finish what you started.”
Your chest is moving fast in shallow breaths and you feel too exposed, but you can’t quite bring yourself to cover up.
“I thought it would ruin the lines?”
There’s no bite to your statement, as badly as you wish there was. Because right now, the only thing you can think of, is how much you wish he’d move his hand higher and do it for you.
“It did. It ruined the line between us.”
You gulp at the realisation of what he means.
“You’re smart. You know the effect you have on me. You know how long I’ve loved you. Four years is a long time y/n.”
Your mouth hangs open in shock. “I - no. I didn’t. I mean… I knew you liked my body, but I just - I figured I just looked good, I… You love me?”
He sighs, sitting back on his heels, practically kneeling at your feet. “I’ve always tried to keep a distance, let you have your fun with other guys - as if I wasn’t dying to be the one making you cry my name at night. But you pushed that line when you did that. And now I need to know - I need to see it.” His pleading eyes look up at you with so much heat. “I need you so much more than you want me.”
Your hand travels closer to your core like it has a mind of its own, goosebumps rising wherever your fingers graze.
“You asked me to be the subject. Practically begged me. You pushed the line...”
He chuckles lightly but there’s no humour there. “And you obliterated it. We’re both guilty.” He bites his lip as your hand stops momentarily. “Please - I can’t stop thinking about it since that day, can’t stop picturing it in my sleep, or when I hear you through the walls... I - I need to know.”
His eyes are glued to your hand, inhaling sharply the moment you slide it beneath your panty line and make contact with your clit, his hand gripping your leg with bruising force.
Your back arches, head thrown back against the furniture, pleasure washing through you. Each pass of your fingers makes your breath hitch, and he devours you with his eyes. None of his fantasies ever came close to what’s in front of him.
“Tell me what you thought about that night.”
You open your eyes, lids heavy from pleasure as you try to form a coherent thought.
“Y-your eyes. How you looked at m-me.”
“What else, baby?”
The pet name has you whimpering. “Your hands. How your veins popped and h-how they’d f-feel inside me.”
His fingers tighten on your leg, making sure to keep them spread.
“I th-thought about the time I caught you and mmh what it’d feel like if that was me inst-tead.”
Your jaw hangs loose now as you look at him, pressure coiling low in your stomach. His own face is flushed from your words and seeing you, and it makes you burn with need.
“P-please Min.”
You don’t need to ask twice - his free hand is already moving to push your underwear aside, rubbing two fingers over your slick before pushing in. He can’t help a moan at the sight of your face. You feel so good, so perfect, and the fact that he’s touching you like this feels like he’s stuck in a dream. There’s no way you’re actually letting him finger you.
And yet, when you grab his wrist, for support, lifting your leg onto the arm of the chair, pinning him into place, he knows this is real. The woman he’s been desperately in love with for the past four years finally sees him for the desperate fool he is, and she wants him back.
“Need to taste you baby. Please?”
His voice is broken and needy, making you even more eager. “Yes, yes fuck need your mouth so bad.”
His smile is almost devilish as he lowers to your core, replacing your fingers with his thick lips and tongue. Your cries increase in pitch at the feeling, your body contorting at the pleasure. No wonder you would hear the girls cry and beg through the walls - and that’s just his mouth and fingers.
“Oh m’god Min - mmh fuck right just like th…”
This is probably the best day of Mingi’s life.
He’s lost in the only pussy he’s ever cared to know, tasting it, lapping it up, coating his fingers with its juices - this is what heaven tastes and feels like. The best part is how he’s only just gotten started and you’re already crying his name.
“Fuck baby so good. Cum on my face, please.”
His long fingers hit that spot inside your walls and you come undone, back arching off the couch in the most beautiful way.
This is art. This is beauty. You and your body. Your natural curves and the ones he creates.
He doesn’t waste a single drop of you, making sure his tongue catches every bit of it, delighting in the slight flush on your chest.
When he’s done, he pulls away, catching your eyes as you follow his every movement, pleased but far from satisfied. Yet one thing keeps replaying in your mind.
“You’ve loved me? All this time?”
He nods, wiping his lips with his thumb and licking it clean.
“Why did you never…”
“You’re my best friend before anything.” He kneads the inside of your thigh absentmindedly. “I’d rather have loved you from afar than risk losing you.”
“B-but…”
What can you even say to that? It must have been torture to love you and be treated as nothing but a friend, seeing you parade all these men around. The girls he brought home probably only a filler for his ache to be with you. You realise he hasn’t properly dated once in those four years. You always thought that was just the player in him, but what if there was more to it?
Guilt gnaws at your insides and you grab his face, pulling him into you. He doesn’t fight the kiss, taking every opportunity he can to have any piece of you while it lasts.
You sigh. “I love you. Not - not in the way that you love me, but I love you. And I’d… I’d like a chance to try seeing if maybe one day I could. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I-”
“Yes.”
“Wait, Min, just think about it. You don’t have to ans-”
“I don’t care. If this is the one chance I have with you, I’m not taking time to think about it. Four years y/n. That’s a long fucking time to be in love with someone who has no idea. And if it doesn’t work out…” He swallows like he doesn’t want to think about it. “If it doesn’t work out, you’re still my best friend. That won’t change. I’ll still love you, but the same way I do now. Except,” he chuckles to himself, “this time I won’t have to wonder what it’d feel like to show you how much I love you.” He looks at you, pleading. “So try. See where this goes.”
“I don’t want to hurt you if it doesn’t work out.”
“Just try. Don’t think about the consequences. I’m a big guy, I can take it. Let me love you the way I’ve been dying to - the way you deserve.”
“Okay.”
Simple, uncomplicated.
There’s fear of ruining what you already have, but the desire to try is so much stronger. It’s not just about desiring him or his body, it’s about trying to see if your best friend can become even more to you. He’s the one person you trust more than yourself, the one you can count on when you need someone. He’s reliable, and funny, and caring, and so much more than his body - this is what you always look for in a man. Why you never looked at what was right in front of you, you have no idea.
“Show me how much you love me.” You whisper.
It takes a second for it to sink in, and he just looks at you like you’ve spoken binary to him. But when it does… the smile on his face is more heart warming than any you’ve ever seen on him - on anyone. You’ve just given him the one thing he’s always wanted but could never have.
His lips crash into yours, violently, starved. There’s none of the restraint he had earlier. The walls are down, the gates are open. You asked him to show you love, and he has so much to give you.
His hands don’t know where to touch first, exploring every inch of you he can reach. No part of you is safe - not your legs, not your hands, not your back, or waist, or hips, or hair - not even your ears, which he takes great care in sucking on once he finally decides to leave your mouth. Your entire world is spinning on its axis, and right now that very axis is the six foot tall blonde sitting between your legs, trying to make up for the last four years.
You try to hold on to him as best as you can but he moves too fast, and all you can do is let him. You can’t keep up with a man who's been dying to taste you since the day you met, whose only fantasy he can remember is calling you his. It’s a wonder you never realised how down bad he was for you, but that made him love you more, somehow. Because despite the ache of not having you, you always treated him the same. Maybe you would have taken a step back if you had known, even moved out, maybe you wouldn’t have. He counts himself lucky he never had to find out.
He traces his tongue on your collarbones down to your chest and your body responds to him automatically, arching into him. Your hand runs down his chest, and the clothes suddenly feel too much.
“Off. Off, please.”
He doesn’t resist, skilfully untying the apron and passing it over his head along with his black tank.
For the first time since you’ve met, you look at him. Really look at him.
You run your fingers down the ridges of his abs, around the soft skin of his chest, squeezing his shoulders lightly. Taking him in. And for the first time in your life, you see someone as more than just a collection of carefully worked parts held together by muscles and skin - you see the beauty in it. The art. The craft.
He lets you touch him, head thrown back and hands gripping his thighs in undisguised pleasure. Oh the nights he dreamt of this. He’d stay on his knees forever if you kept venerating him like this.
“Mingi.” You start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head at the ceiling.
“No Mingi. Mingi’s for when I did something bad.”
You smile at him as you sit closer on the edge of the chair. “Mingi.”
His eyes snap to yours and he gulps.
“You’re beautiful.”
If he wasn’t thinking of burying himself inside of you right now, he would have cried. But all he wants to do is worship you and the ground you walk on for being so incredibly perfect.
His head dips to your stomach, kissing the soft supple flesh, leisurely making his way up towards your chest. He rubs his thumb over your breasts before looking up at you. How much sweeter can he be to ask for permission when he’s stared at you naked for hours now? You bite your lip as your fingers play with his hair and nod, letting him undo the clasps and slide the garment down your arms and off your body.
His tongue swirls on the painfully hard peaks, sucking and nipping at them in tandem, delighting in being able to touch them after so long spent trying not to look. Your tiny breaths as you tug a little harder on his strands bring him closer and closer to losing control. It’s almost painful now, how hard he is, but it feels wrong to jump the gun when he could take all the time in the world memorising every inch of you.
He reaches between your legs again, wrapping his fingers around the lace, once again stopping to look at you for approval, which you give without restraint. You’re throbbing now, aching to feel him there. He slides the fabric down your legs, rubbing over your core like he did earlier, and a satisfied moan passes your lips.
He continues kissing your skin, sucking on your breasts as his fingers work their way inside you, a slow, maddening rhythm that has you seeing stars.
“You don’t know how badly I wanted to do that last week when you teased me.”
He kisses your neck, angling your face away for better access. At this point you don’t know what feels better between his words and his touch, but you know you need him, in any way he’s willing to give himself to you.
His rhythm grows quicker, hitting that gummy spot in your walls and you start losing your mind, tears welling up in your eyes from pleasure.
“Fuck, Mingi…” You bite your lip to not scream, the shaking in your legs making it difficult.
“Go on baby, scream my name.” He whispers in your ear.
The sound of his low, gravelly voice undoes you and you cry out his name as you cum again, your head thrown back against the chair whilst he continues to finger you through it.
Your first instinct when you regain some clarity is to just grab his face and kiss the shit out of him. Your tongues dance around each other with need, exploring and tasting what you’ve both been missing for so long, whether you knew it or not.
“I need your cock Min.” You moan between sloppy kisses, reaching your hand towards the tent in his sweats. “Need you so bad.”
He pants in your mouth as soon as you palm him, even through the fabric.
“Slow down baby or I won’t last.”
“I don’t care. Fuck me over and over if you need. Whatever you need.”
He grunts, fingers gripping your waist with bruising force. “You can’t say that to me.”
You pass your hand past the waistband and whimper when you feel how hard and big he is. You can’t help looking down at it before looking back at him under your lashes, jaw dropped.
“Please?”
He didn’t realise you’d be the death of him, but that’s exactly what looking at your doe eyes when your small hand is pumping him feels like.
He grabs your hips, sliding you further down the chair and pulling his bottoms down until they pool at his ankles, before lining himself up with you.
Your heart is beating out of your chest with anticipation when he grabs your chin til your eyes meet his. That’s the moment he starts pushing in and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He takes his time - for both of your sakes - knowing his size needs adjusting to.
“Breathe baby, you need to relax - I c-can’t get in otherwise.”
He grunts between gritted teeth. You do your best but your entire body is stiff from the stretch and your hand is clamped down on your mouth to stop the screams threatening to burst out.
He stops moving for a moment, chest heaving, hooking your leg on his arm to open you up more. His thick lips find yours, distracting you from the pain, and he resumes pushing in the last couple of inches until he finally bottoms out.
He caresses your cheek, moving hair out of the way to kiss your neck, showering you with praises at how well you’re doing for him. You can barely hear him, too absorbed by the incredible feeling of fullness.
When he moves, it’s slow, deliberate, rolling his hips with precision. He’s not fucking you, he’s loving you. He could just pound into you until you were nothing but a whimpering, crying mess for him. And he absolutely will do that if you give him the chance. But for your first time together, he needs it to be special. He wants to take care of you, make you feel good before anything. Show you exactly what you’ve been missing all this time, even if you didn’t know it.
“So tight… Y’feel so good, my perfect girl.”
His words make you levitate as much as his veins grating against your walls. You wish you could reply, but the words are lost somewhere in the room.
“How’d you feel baby? Is my cock making you feel good?”
You nod frantically, biting your lip and pulsing involuntarily around him.
“Mmh yeah, you’re squeezing me s-so hard, greedy lil thing.”
“M-more.” You finally manage. “Harder.”
He chuckles breathlessly. “You want more, huh?” His thrusts become a little rougher at your command, the sound of his thighs slapping your ass filling the room. “Think you can take it?”
“Y-yes.” You gasp, high pitched.
He’s losing control, slowly but surely. You’re just perfect. The perfect woman, with the perfect body, taking him so perfectly, asking for more.
He’s hitting even deeper now and you practically feel him in your throat. You try to breathe but only manage shaky, broken gasps. It’s a sound he’s sure to reply over and over in his mind.
“Oh m’god Mingi fuck.” You cry out, a tear falling from your eye.
Your nails are etching red lines in his back, the sting only encourages him to keep going. One hand on the back of the chair and the other gripping the side of your neck, he tries his best to prolong it. But when you wrap your legs around his waist, the angle is just too good.
“I’m not cuming til you do baby.” He states, almost more as a promise to himself than to you.
He lets go of the armchair to reach between your sweat drenched bodies, finding your clit, already sensitive to his touch. You can’t hold back your whimpers as he circles it in synchronicity with his thrusts.
“Yes yes yes don’t stop ah.” You babble between your tears.
Your fingers slide to the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to yours. You’ll be damned if you don’t kiss him when he makes you cum.
Both of your moans and whimpers mix into one in the space of your mouths. Your legs are shaking as his hips start to stutter, and the pressure finally snaps in your stomach with a scream that rips through the room. He can’t hold back anymore, spilling everything inside you. His whines and slowed thrusts carry you through the orgasm a little longer, until he halts, his lips kissing your neck to no end.
So this is the “post-coital bliss” people talk about.
Laying on top of each other, trying to catch your breaths, scratching his back mindlessly whilst he peppers your skin with kisses and looks up at you with sparkling eyes, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead…
“Explain to me how exactly I never thought of you like that and missed out on the best sex of my life hands down?”
He laughs, resting his chin on your chest. “Because I never told you, and you’re too good a woman to think of your friends like this and cross the line.” He leans forward to peck you with a smile. “Worth it though.”
You ruffle his hair gently and he all but purrs against you. “I never knew you were such a softie.”
“I wanna paint for a living. How did that not give you a clue?”
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