[grind.] sender ruts against receiver through their clothing. ♡ @plyr256.
the window is cracked just enough for the cool night air to slip in through where it parts, and it’s nearly enough to draw se-mi from her agitated pacing around gyeong-su’s room. she feels restless, still vibrating from an altercation with a debt collector that was some odd hours ago, a back and forth against the flooring that accompanies the consternation wrought firmly in her furrowed brow. gyeong-su sits crossed-legged on the floor, wide eyes fixed ‘pon her with immaculate patience. she doesn’t get how. or why, really. why he listens to her every word and hears out all her frustrations, allows her the infinite grace of crashing at his after work, sparing her from unrelenting trek back towards the cramped gosiwon she calls home. it’s hard to remember what she’s angry about anymore. maybe it’s the way that bastard spoke to her — they look upon the shag of her hair and the piercings embellishing her face and look down upon her in turn — or maybe it isn’t, maybe that treatment all blurs together once the day hits its end. either way, she’s run out of things to complain about. her body still hums with leftover adrenaline, kicked into overdrive with nowhere to put the compulsions.
he’s said little over five words in the past ten minutes. perhaps he’d learned on his own terms that verbal affirmation isn’t what se-mi seeks to settle her rage. while not something she could put words to, his presence was its own comfort, something unobtrusive and stable through the nights tinged with wrongness. it’s good. he’s good.
[ the idea hits her. it’s firstly something faint that lingers in the back of her mind. an assumption any reasonable person would make when nervous-energy golden retriever invites her over after dark. she does not fault him for it. that, or maybe it was something wrong to assume of him. uncouth, a tarnish against his moral character. would he decline if she asked? if the idea was hers and only hers? the corners of her lips upturn into a demure smile. what she wants is a distraction. from life, from the bullshit. something she can feel in control of for once. ]
planting herself against his mattress, her voice drops low, gravelly in a firm utterance. ❛❛ come here. ❜❜ something colder than usual — she’s almost taken aback by the speed with which he scrambles to his knees, an awkward rush to get to his feet and follow her. no time is wasted in how her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer until knees brush against hers. open palm settles heavy at the back of his neck. something present, a test of whether he’ll stay where she puts him. he does.
❛❛ good, ❜❜ she murmurs, half-focused. ❛❛ just like that. stay right there. ❜❜ his quick nod amuses her, and she hums a small approval, faintest whisper of ❛❛ good boy, ❜❜ split by her lip ring. she’s beginning to crave the way he stares up at her. and here she thought herself better than such pitiful toxicants.
he listens well. it’s something satisfactory, something she can rest easy knowing while blocking out the drumming annoyance of her life’s other stressors. shut away in his bedroom, all that matters is how she speaks to him. [ all that matters is how well he listens. ]
❛❛ i’m starting to think this is why i keep you around. ❜❜ it’s only as much of a confession as she wants it to be: not an ideation she’s otherwise dedicated much attention to. se-mi keeps her around because she has something to gain, just as gyeong-su does in turn. maybe it’s something as innocent as companionship. she hasn’t decided. maybe he’s paid his worth in the way he looks at her.
slow and deliberate in how she shifts forward, adjusting until she has seated herself flush in his lap; a chaste delight in how the fabric of their clothing tugs subtly against one another. her eyes are on his hands, and, wearing a coy simper, she decides it’s most fun to make him wait. a near inaudible hiss beyond her grit teeth, dissolving into an affectionate chuckle with the tested waters of a new instruction. hands flat comes first, unsubtle invitation to restrain himself. build up the pressure. ❛❛ keep your eyes on me, okay? ❜❜ she speaks the sort of words that seem like they should come out more confident than they do. as if, by some deliberate delusion, she could be practiced in this sort of thing. [ she’s not. and maybe she likes it that way, behavior that only he could pull from her. gyeong-su makes her curious enough to foray far beyond her comfort zone, long past a field where she is cool and competent and level-headed. she wants this badly. ]
finger pad traces at skin, dragging tantalizingly up from his neck and past his throat, stopping just shy of his chin. she, with careful pressure, manipulates his head to tip upwards. her fingers slide in, cradling his jaw in a grasp verging on too firm — she wants to look at him, and she wants him to see her, in turn. a lax roll of her hips, clad in shorts that leave little to the imagination even when partnered with the oversized t-shirt engulfing her frame. always a chase for more friction, sending jolts of desire through her body enough to kickstart her mind away from the stress of it all. she wants to kiss him, and briefly she wonders if he’d like to do the same. se-mi discards the thought within seconds. of course he wants to kiss her. it’s a silly thing to ask. sometimes lust is restraint.
she leans forward, lips ghosting above his; an uncomfortable feeling hollows out her insides, nestling itself within. was it just satisfaction? or something grosser, more unruly? [ se-mi has not wanted in a very long time. life has taught her that wanting leaves you opened up to vulnerability, dissatisfaction. people will always have the capacity to disappoint you, if not worse, and most will do so if it benefits them. it is visceral and uncomfortable, wanting is. she wants like a caged animal grinds their teeth down on the bars of their confinement. she wants him, she realizes. she isn’t sure what to do with the feeling. all she has are teeth. ] she does this because she wants to think less, and yet more and more thoughts weigh her done, rattle around unrelenting in the hold of her skull. thoughts of uncertainty, confusion. the warmth of her exhale hits his throat as she leans down, hovers just shy of his jawline. she’s nervous, and her heart ticking more rapidly in her ribcage is the greatest indicator. can he tell how nervous she is? not as if there’s any good reason for it, knowing the apathy of quick intimacy like the back of her hand.
pressure of him rutting up into her through the constraint of his pants tells her well enough that she is doing something right, emboldening her with enough fabricated confidence to go on. redistributing her weight, pinning him down more fully, legs bracketing him as she remains sat astride. the mattress whines softly with every shift. chilled air wafts in through the window, but each brush of skin against skin blooms an incandescent heat too great to ignore.
her spine straightens as she pulls back, fingers snapping quickly to grab his attention. like a dog. ❛❛ i want to try something. ❜❜ se-mi discovers the sentiment at the same time he does, ever-curious, hoping that pressing on as a dutiful adventurer will mask her hesitation. [ gross. uncomfortable. why does she care about getting something right, whatever that means? it’s never mattered before. and gyeong-su, sweet and well-meaning as he is, is a man at the end of the day. they have never afforded her that courtesy before. and she was fine with it. really, she was. she had just as much to gain as they did; there is a smear of black lip-tint and a trace of sharp nails against skin to prove it. this is different. how irritating. ] hands anchor at his shoulders, her grasp a little too tight — fingers drive into the flesh, near bruising in their force — and she uses that newfound stability to rock herself against him, panting quietly from the increased friction. ❛❛ don’t move. just stay still. ❜❜ a pause, lips parting to make way for her more labored breathing. needy. she feels herself pulse with want, and she juts her teeth into her bottom lip to sever the feeling. ❛❛ can you do that for me? ❜❜
she’d probably explode if he met her part-way, rocked up into her with just as much force and uninhibited lust as she gave. it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, riding out her stuttering hips and abruptly-cut breathing through an abrupt orgasm. tsk tsk. but, for some unexplained, mythical reason, she wants this to last. wants to feel him for longer, touch him for longer, collapse against him with sweat gluing fringe to her forehead when all was said and done.
❛❛ good boy, gyeong-su. ❜❜ finally, finally she grants herself relief in joining their lips together, approaching this with a sort of hunger she hadn’t realized herself capable of. not like this, at least. not with a sweet boy that lingers after her shifts and spews fanboy’s raps and unprovoked medical facts in equal measure and enthusiasm. maybe that made it better. going against the grain, some sick perversion. [ it would be a lie to claim she hadn’t fantasized about this before, at least once or twice. morbid curiosity guides even the most lecherous of thoughts. some sort of illusory dream sequence where he maps out her body with every touch of his hands, fully spent before it can ever play out in full. ] she kisses him harder, squeezing tighter at his shoulders to support the gyration of her hips. the fabric feels like heaven and prison both, rustling fabric heightening the sensation and keeping her away from the fullest contact she craves. ❛❛ would you, hah, would you believe me if i said i’d imagined this happening before? ❜❜
they are not thoughts girls are supposed to have, nor words that girls are supposed to speak. but who is se-mi if not fighting forever against the image of who she should be? [ come one, come all. gaze at her piercings and the cut of her hair and the lacerating edge of her tongue. ] she moans, soft and desperate, into the plane of skin at his neck. ❛❛ touch me, okay? i want you. ❜❜
