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soobadnoonecanstopher · 5 days ago

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Rat Bastard - Part 11

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo

Rating: M (Mature Smut)

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Idiots to Lovers, Mature Sexual Situations.

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

“Peanuts, Miss?”

In a blink of an eye it was over.

The swirling, frantic moments inside of the hurricane, with the grime and cobwebs and 100 years of dirt covering every surface. The painful turned magical moments spent inside of that abandoned and run down storm shelter were all gone and you opened your eyes at the unwelcome intrusion; cutting off the vivid memories of the strength of those fingertips that left divots in the flesh of your soft thighs.

A shiny foil packet was left behind in the palm of your hand as her back retreated. That foil reflected the sunshine filtering through the lower third of your window that let in just enough warmth to heat your skin. The higher the plane’s altitude climbed, the further down you’d had to pull the shade; lest the light pink bruises show through this sheer top when the sunlight discovered them. Bruises that a hot mouth pulled into existence and needy teeth bit firmly into place, still peppered certain places on your neck; your chest; and much lower, over other hidden places on your body.

“Something to drink, darling?” Another overly friendly voice lilted into your ears and you inhaled through your nose as your lips pulled into a perfunctory smile, nodding your head and accepting the plastic cup and tiny square of a napkin decorated with the airline’s logo. A sleek silver cartoon fish. A barracuda which now that you really thought about it, had no business existing tens of thousands of feet up in the air.

It was only a blink of an eye — the both of you inside of that hurricane. One blink and it was the last. It was the story of you and him. After the last raindrop fell and the songbirds emerged from their hiding spots, the first trilling notes from a ringing cell phone interrupted the last real stretch of peace and calm within his strong arms and with that phone call came the signal. The notice that the storm had passed. It was all over. Bags should be packed — don’t worry about cleaning up — resort staff were coming to take care of that. Drawers and surfaces, shelves and cabinets should all be checked for personal belongings you weren’t willing to lose forever; for neither of you would never, ever set foot in this place again. Not in your lifetimes. Not alone and not together.

That phone call was the beginning of the end and you’d felt blindsided by just how swiftly everything moved once that momentum had been built.

A single call, just one blink. You felt the urge for another; two or three quick ones. You blinked out the blinding sunlight that slipped under the window shade. You slowed a stuttered breath through your nostrils. A futile attempt to command it, but you gave in at once and blinked again. Then once more to clear the slippery and blushing images that pushed against your heart. And once more for the noncommittal questions whispered against your wet lips.

“What airport are you flying into?”

“How long is your layover?”

“What time do you land?”

You were probably being dramatic. It was something you were prone to, but you had to blink quicker to dispel the wetness that blurred your vision and after the telltale heaviness of the moisture that accumulated along your lash line grew to dangerous volumes you had to blot away the wetness with the barracuda. It came away damp; probably grateful for any moisture a fish could get 35,000 feet up in the air.

You inhaled another breath, this one going in deeper and coming out slower with just a hint of staccato stutter on the exhale as your lungs fully gave into the ridiculousness of the mood you were feeling right now. You were painfully aware of the absurdity. Any casual observer might think you’d lost out on something precious. The single tear that managed to slip by the barracuda might make them think you weren’t a woman who’d not only just begun a promising and beautiful relationship with someone strong, handsome, and talented in ways you could only dream of being. Someone who also, somehow, by some twist of fate, happened to find you just lovely enough to be worthy of his affection and his time.

Somewhere under the surface you felt it; familiar old habits of yours that liked to creep up at the worst times. Old tricks of your mind that whispered mean things to you about how very not special you were; how currently unemployed you were; how untalented and unspectacular you really were despite the airs you liked to put on, what a dead weight you would be on his life and what if — what if without the actual life or death danger keeping that man trapped by your side; without the heavy steel door and the cement block walls and the maddening loneliness, boredom, and desperation that warped his opinion of you from deranged harpie to good enough for some easy sex — what if he changed his mind when he got good look at you. What if it had all been an illusion and the spark in his eyes fizzled with the first real look at you in the harsh lighting of the real world. Your next inhale was noisier. Your nose was stuffed up and the tiny napkin wasn’t much help anymore.

Between the crack of the seats of the row in front of you, a tiny eyeball pulled wide and stared at you. A small voice gasped in surprise and you heard a high pitched voice ask, “Mommy, why is that lady crying?” Much too young and curious to know any better and definitely too young to understand volume control, the question hung hard and heavy in the air around your seat row. The child’s mother gasped in horror and you caught her eyes for a split second through the crack. The old man across the aisle to your left visibly stiffened and turned, compelled to look at you, just enough to gawk, just enough to quickly look away the moment your red rimmed eyes met his. The awkwardness grew with the heat that crept up your cheeks and no amount of the child’s mother’s harshly whispered “Shhh — It’s not polite to stare” could extinguish it.

How could you even begin to answer such a question? ‘Sorry little one. I haven’t had any terrible tragedy befall me. I didn’t lose a pet or break my favorite toy. I didn’t fall down and skin my knee or have someone push me on the playground and call me stinky. I’m just afraid that the brand new boyfriend that I’ve tricked into a relationship that nobody in my life knows about — none of my friends, none of his friends, not even our closest best friends who know everything about everything — nobody knows about — he could cut and run so easily and we wouldn’t even have to make a sentimentally sad instagram post about how we will be moving our separate ways — that I might as well have stockholm-ed into liking me — that probably only even came to like me because we were trapped together in a last-woman-on-Earth type situation and I’m terrified he’s going to find out real fucking soon that this Earth is full of many, many women who are all far superior to me.’

There was no need for any actual answers to the child’s question because the captain was speaking through the speaker overhead. Some garbled message that had the right rhythm and cadence to get the flight attendants moving. Seat backs were uprighted. Tray tables were latched. You recognized the shift. This flight was nearing its end just as your time in the storm shelter had come to an end. Soon you’d find yourself back at your apartment, back in your same old bedroom with your same old problems and same old you.

You wished you could go back to that island, back to the eye of that storm in that locked-up cement-walled shelter where he had no choice but to want you and to love you with as much desperation as you felt for him.

All through the airport as you waited for your connecting flight. As you reached the soil of your home country and your cell phone came back to life, pinging and beeping with a week’s worth of notifications from people who you knew and who cared about you. Messages from best friends who wondered about your whereabouts; wondered about the odd silence they’d seen from you online. You had disappeared to them all; except for one single person. At least you had something to occupy your mind with; recounting the tale of your near death experience with a category 5 hurricane; your vacation turned sour.

You couldn't quite bring it in yourself to discuss him.

You weren’t sure why.

He felt like a bubble. Fragile and beautiful and if you touched him with your filthy hands he would pop and vanish.

You’d get back home and take a few moments to catch your breath and you’d get him on the phone and talk with him about how you both would handle the fallout of this.

And there was bound to be some. Lines had been drawn. Rifts had grown between groups of friends who all took your side, save for one or two of his long time friends who didn’t doubt him for a second.

But your words had held so much power against him, you were completely convinced he was in the wrong after all , and you recognized that you’d need to come clean very soon if this messy new relationship was going to go anywhere at all.

It was scary. The more you dwelled on it while sitting on your bed in the comfort and privacy of your own home now, the more humiliated you felt about the whole thing.

Claire, the one who so vehemently apologized for her role in setting you both up on that date. Claire, your kind, sweet, well-meaning friend. The one who took your side completely in your endeavors to pull the wool clear of everyone’s eyes so they could see him for what he really was, a liar, a snake. You had to talk to Claire first, just the two of you, alone. Before she heard about this from anyone else. She’d also been a victim of you too, just as Kyungsoo had been. You needed her to understand the truth about what you had done. You needed her forgiveness.

Your thumb ran lightly over the string of waiting text messages from her. She had been searching for you, blaming herself for sending you on that silly retreat and lamenting on the timing of it all when she found out a storm had been heading to that very island resort where you were sure to have been trapped.

You clicked on her name and typed out a quick string of words. Explaining how first and foremost you were alive and well. Apologizing for your oversight with not realizing you’d need an international SIM card to keep your phone alive while you were gone and giving the briefest run-down of the hurricane, outstanding efforts by the resort staff to keep you safe and as comfortable as possible given the circumstances, and you asked if she was available for a phone call — being extremely careful not to mention, at any point in your messages, the presence of another human in this entire recap, a human man who you were both quite familiar with, as his name was frequently the subject of many, many of your conversations with Claire in the past.

Claire was a responsible adult with a daytime job and she was too busy for a talk now. She also sounded excited to share some gossip with you about something else that had transpired while you were away and so your long list of confessions to the women would have to wait.

You stared down at your phone. Having to live without it for a solid week seemed to have broken you of some of your bad habits related to the thing and you left it behind on your kitchen table as you busied yourself with unpacking your bags. You started a load of laundry, put back bits and things you never even got to use and carelessly tossed that unopened big box of condoms on your bed.

You should throw them away.

They were rather expensive.

Again, your mind drifted to him.

A glance toward the clock told you that based on the vague travel schedule he’d told you about, he would have landed by now. He would have made his way through the airport, gotten a ride to his office as he said he had some work to do before he would finally be able to go back home and lay down in his own bed.

You’d dreamed of such a thing while trapped away in that shelter — laying down in your own bed.

Now the stupid thing looked too big, too unoccupied, too cold, and too empty for you to want anything to do with it. You had a feeling the second you laid down in it your mind would be flooded with too many memories of him to be able to find comfort in anything that wasn’t his arms.

Oh, what a damned fool you had become. He’d turned you into an idiot. You couldn’t live without him now. You’d be destroyed when he finally wised up and came to his senses.

The thoughts of him had your eyes searching for your phone as a thought suddenly dawned on you. A memory really, from the first quiet minutes after that phone call had arrived. Before either of you pushed yourselves up on your legs, pulled your clothing back onto your bodies and began the painful task of gathering up every one of your belongings to say goodbye.

It was in those first minutes though when Kyungsoo had reached his hands down to pull at the straps of his duffel bag and he lifted the whole thing onto his bare thighs, digging and digging until he pulled out a ball-point pen. As the memories made their way into your mind, you made your way into your bathroom, lifting your top up, pushing at the gauze-like fabric until you found it. You stood in front of the mirror, touching with gentle fingertips over the marks he’d made on you. You had been giggling. It made the pen marks stutter in their journey and you even pushed with protesting fingertips against his hands as made his first tickling passes over your skin with the pen.

“Shhh, stop,” he said with his giggling mouth and the pen kept moving over your skin until you’d settled down enough to just let him do whatever it was he was doing to you.

There, written backwards in blue ink, high up on your rib cage, below where your breast naturally fell was a phone number. Of course he’d have to have given it to you somehow. You could make out most of it as your mind quickly spun the numbers around so you could understand them all. This was Kyungsoo’s phone number. Your Kyungsoo.

The numbers on the clock, reflected backwards in the bathroom mirror with the help of some quick time zone math, told you it had been 11 hours since you’d last seen him at the airport. You’d both had several hours of travel time, plus he had the stop at the office to deal with whatever next trip he had to iron out details for. One of his clients, some billionaire’s daughter, had booked him for a long trip on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean and that was coming up very soon. Soon. like tomorrow. This revelation had set a heavy stone down in the pit of your stomach.

You’d paid enough attention to the calendar to know that the next time you would see him might not be until Sam and Mari, your mutual friends’ wedding.

Your face had betrayed your disappointment. He pulled your frowning mouth into his lips again and again, promising you that he didn’t always go out of the country for work — that despite the awful schedule he had to keep, it was usually within driving distance of each other.

Pushing the memory of that disappointment away you left the bathroom to find your phone. You’d made it to the kitchen table when you heard a faint buzzing echoing through the wood.

You were getting a phone call and it was from a phone number that was not saved in your contacts. You couldn't tell how many times this person had called, nor did you know how many rings had rung, but now that you were looking at it, the number was familiar. You’d just spent the last 10 minutes dreamily running your fingertips from the tips of the 1s down to their pointed bottoms; running rings around the 0s and snaking your pinky finger along the shape of the 9s and the 5s. There was a burst of flutters inside of your belly. Kyungsoo was calling you.

You swiped to answer before the call was lost and you held the phone up to your ear, pausing to keep your breath from catching in your throat and to keep the stutter of excitement out of your voice.

You managed a casual ‘Hello?’ as a greeting but what you heard on the other end of the line was a stretch of such quiet that it sent a jolt of worry through you. Perhaps you’d missed his call. You pulled the phone down to check and the call was indeed still connected. You brought the phone back up to your ear and inhaled once more, ready to say ‘hello’ again when you heard the slightest exhale inside your phone’s speaker.

“Hi.”

It was him. It was Kyungsoo.

You didn't even feel your face move into the wide smile that pushed your cheeks up but you were definitely smiling when you responded to his tiny greeting with your own even smaller response; even softer than his was.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything. You couldn’t even hear him breathing, not after that first exhale.

You had to hold your breath to get control over yourself. You felt like a lovesick teenager and if you hadn’t been tethered to reality with this cell phone stuck to your face, desperate to catch any little sound he might make, you might have thrown yourself down onto your living room floor and screamed at the top of your lungs.

After a few deep breaths it began to feel as if neither one of you would say anything at all and after enough time passed for it to become quite ridiculous you hummed out a small questioning sound — sort of a preamble as you warmed up your voice for what? You had no idea. Still you eked out a little ‘umm,’ at the same time as you heard the sound of him lightly clearing his throat and inhaling against the phone speaker to speak.

“H-how was—’’ his attempt was quickly and not so smoothly aborted with a small groan. You closed your eyes and you could picture his eyes closing up as he lifted a hand to lay over his forehead. You could practically see the pink in his cheeks from here.

“Sorry,” he exhaled out through his lips, you heard the air, “why am I so nervous?” The last question was mumbled to himself, but it was out loud enough for you to hear it.

It brought out a stifled half-giggle from the back of your throat.

“Why are you nervous, Kyungsoo?” You agreed with your question. Every little bit of the grumpy mood from earlier vanished in an instant with his voice in your ear like this. You laid down on your sofa with your legs propped up over the arm and swung your feet up and down absentmindedly, cradling your phone up to your ear as it was the most precious thing in the world as you ran a hand over your belly, up higher over your ribcage where you’d been tracing his phone number in the mirror mere moments before.

“Right? Why am I? I’ve been with you all week. I was just with you this morning. What is this?” He laughed once; a hopeless sort of laugh from deep inside of his chest and you hummed into the line, somehow understanding this feeling that must have been surging through him.

“It’s,” you began, biting down on your bottom lip once before finishing your thought, “it’s different…having you in my ear like this.”

“Different,” he said softly, his voice lifting just a tiny bit at the end of the word. Less of a questioning sound, but more of his shaky control giving into madness a little. “Different. It’s different. You sound—”

You listened closely but his words stopped coming. However you sounded to him, he wasn’t ready to talk any more about it. He let out a tiny groan and cleared his throat, inhaling again with more purpose you heard the man rein it in suddenly.

“Tell me something. Anything. What did you—” a quick exhale left, “What did you do first when you got home?”

“Umm,” you lifted your eyes toward your ceiling, not seeing but recalling your arrival at your apartment. “I brought my luggage in and I unpacked, no, first I had to text Claire and tell her about my trip and let her know that I wasn’t dead at the bottom of the ocean, you know, that sort of thing. She was too busy to talk, though, so I didn’t get a chance to get into … too many details.” You heard the soft hum from the back of his throat.

He was just listening without asking questions and without interrupting so you kept going.

“Then, well, I went to my bedroom to unpack my bag. So, I put everything away. Laundry — makeup and …stuff. I was about to change, well, actually, not change because I then remembered, this morning…you and your pen — I was about to put your phone number into my phone, but then you called me before I could do that and, well, now I’m talking to you on the phone and obviously I can’t concentrate on doing anything else, because m-my boyf— umm — because, Kyungsoo called me.”

Admittedly, you had been rambling. You paused your rapid fire recap of what all had transpired once you’d walked through your front door for some sort of response from him, but also to catch your breath and calm your nerves.

What came was a long drawn out exhale mixed with the low notes of a groan. His lungs had been full. The exhale wandered over your ears for a long while.

“I miss you,” he breathed out through the tail end of that groan.

He missed you.

Your boyfriend missed you.

His abrupt confession stopped you mid thought and you froze with whatever else you were about to say trapped inside of your throat. All that came out, after just a little bit of shock wore off was the softest question for him.

“You do?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he asked you another question.

“Do you want to come over and help me pack for my trip tomorrow?” As far as flimsy excuses went, this one was paper thin. If he really did need help packing, you would be no help. If anything you’d be an obstacle to productivity.

You must have answered him. A small sound came out of you that sounded like an ‘mhmm.’

“Hmm? I’ll pick you up?” He added this to sweeten the deal and you could feel yourself nodding your head in response even though he couldn't see you. His voice right now…that little hum from his throat. He practically whispered these words right between your legs

“Yeah. Okay,” you said while still nodding and you swung your legs down off of the arm of your sofa, landing them squarely in front of you on your carpeted floor.

You had to shower. You were still covered in gross public airport travel germs and you had definitely looked cuter this morning when you’d last seen him. Your hair felt a little grimy and there were things you needed to scrub off, like the marks he’d made on your body this morning with his pen. The marks he’d made with his mouth, well those wouldn’t budge even with some soap and a loofa.

“Text me your address.” Something had changed deep down inside of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d jump if a man told you to jump like this. You couldn't recall every being this agreeable with any of your exes. But you were humming in agreement. Swiping and typing across your phone screen to send him your address the second he’d asked for it. You were nodding your head, leaping to your feet to rush to your closet to pick out something to wear that made you feel beautiful.

“Umm…give me an hour to get ready?”

You’d expected his easy agreement to your extremely normal request.

Instead you got a tiny scoff and some ridiculous negotiation tactics.

“Thirty minutes.” His voice echoed out of the little speaker of your cell phone that sat on the counter of your tiny bathroom, “I miss you.” There was a whining tone that you seldom heard from him. You noticed he tended to do this when he really, really wanted you to give into him.

You pulled the toothbrush out of your mouth so he could understand your argument, ignoring the insane butterflies that you felt moving all through your chest.

“Forty-five minutes, Kyungsoo. I need to shower. I’ve been traveling.” You heard a concerning sound on the other side of this call. The beep that a car might make as it was being unlocked.

“Twenty minutes.” A car door closed. An engine started up. “I miss you,” he said again, as if this alone was the justification for him to do anything at all.

“Twenty?!” Much of the exasperation you were going for was drowned out by your own laughter. “That is not how you negotiate.”

“You are going in the wrong direction,” you released a whining complaint that no doubt sounded out through the speakers of his car.

He wasn't responding. All you could hear was the occasional sound of an engine accelerating or a turn signal ticking.

You sighed out your defeat, closing your eyes into it.

“If I'm still in the shower when you get here, the door code is my birthday. If you can figure that out… make yourself at home, I guess.” You knew for a fact that you’d never told him. You did however have a very active social media life and posted some sort of account of your birthday celebration every year. The year might stump him but he deserved to suffer just a little bit for being so impatient.

When the active phone call vanished, you could see a few notifications left behind on your phone screen. A few responses to some text messages from your many relieved friends, but most tellingly, two other missed calls from that same phone number whose owner was now quickly on his way over to your house. Missed calls all made within the same short time while you were in here running your fingertips lovingly over those numbers written into your ribs, he was growing more and more frustrated and desperate.

You felt just a little bit silly now. All of those insecurities from hours ago; the tears on the airplane; the ridiculously misread loss of something precious just because you no longer had him trapped inside of some cement walls and steel doors with nowhere else to go.

Even with the door wide open, it seems he had nowhere else he wanted to go.

You’d already stripped off the day’s clothes and started the water in the shower to heat up when you’d shouted out those last few words into the phone over the sound of the running water.

You heard some bits of protestations from him a few seconds before you hung up the call and turned to jump into the shower. The water wasn’t quite warm enough but you soldiered through it, lathering, scrubbing, and sudsing yourself all over just about as quickly as you’ve ever done so and every few minutes you’d dissolve into amused giggles at the nerve of this man.

About halfway through your shower the water had finally reached the perfect temperature to wash away all of the grime and grit from the long day. The warm water flowed over your face, washing away all of your earlier tears and worries and insecurities and you even found the messy scribbles made in blue ink no match for some nice smelling soap and a good scrubbing. You found yourself taking your time just a little bit. Scraping at your scalp thoroughly and even washing your hair again to make sure to get every last bit of the you from yesterday off.

It felt like a new beginning.

You’d quite purposefully lost track of time, going through great lengths to ignore the nagging feeling inside of your chest that asked silly questions like whether or not he was able to figure out the combination to get through your front door, or if you’d find him pouting outside, leaned up against the locked doorway having been defeated by those mysterious six digits. Somewhere in the middle of your final rinses you could have sworn you heard a sound. Perhaps the familiar of the same kinds of door locks all of these units had. Maybe even the sound of a door opening and closing.

You couldn't be sure though.

It might just be a neighbor coming home from work.

After your shower you took care of the bare minimum to get out of this bathroom. Underwear and a bra. Tossing a dress over your head and pulling it roughly down into place to cover your ass and thighs. A quick pass of a comb through your wet hair; you’d blow dry it later. A speedy and haphazard application of some lightly tinted moisturizer on your face, ignoring the other bottles with the many steps of your usual skincare regimen. The makeup was mostly forgotten. This half assed attempt would have to do. You were practically vibrating with curiosity.

If he was here, you thought maybe you might find him sitting on your sofa in the living room. Perhaps he’d pull up a stool at your kitchen counter, one leg crossed over the other with a cold beer from your fridge in front of him as he flipped through the newest L.L. Bean catalogue, one of the ones that came relentlessly because you’d once bought a raincoat as a gift for your father six years ago, that you’d brought in from the mailbox on the first floor of this on your way in.

What you hadn’t expected, and what your reaction gave away with the startled gasp that erupted from your chest the moment you opened your bathroom door, was to find Doh Kyungsoo sitting on the foot of your bed — a black backwards ball cap sitting on top of his head — a danger you had not once prepared for was how incredibly attractive this man would look wearing a backwards ball cap. This had to be some sort of a trick, right? His sock covered feet sat flat on the floor, his knees, in casual jeans, parted casually in front of him and his biceps popped below the short sleeves of his black t-shirt from where he leaned back on both arms. His posture looked supremely comfortable in your own home that he had never ever stepped foot in — in your very own bed that he had never ever slept in.

You recovered from the shock as best you could, but inside of your chest you could feel your heart racing. You held your breath for a moment, blinking away the surprise from your face as you slowed yourself down and simply took in the look of him. Your gaze made it back up to the top of his head after the languid journey you took to get here and when you caught his eyes, he moved a little, lolling his head over to the side as he took a slow breath of oxygen deep into his lungs and closed his eyes up, biting down on his bottom lip briefly before he exhaled the breath through his parted lips. He was shaking his head back and forth, his eyes still closed up tight and after a few moments he balanced on his left arm, the impressive muscles working overtime now, lifting his right side to rub a hand quite roughly over his face.

You didn’t pry. He seemed to be coming to terms with something and if there was one thing you knew was that if you were sitting right where he was; having just given so very much away with his recent, rather desperate and needy, and oh so telling behavior; sitting right smack in the middle of some sort of revelation as he seemed to be, you wouldn’t appreciate someone asking you the one, two, three, four, five — or so questions that you felt needed immediate answering.

You could only give him so much though. You noticed your big, rather expensive box of condoms that once sat where he now sat was nowhere to be found. He followed your wandering eyes as you zeroed in on the wastebasket that sat beside your dresser between your floor length mirror. You could make out the edge of the black box there in the trash.

When your attention returned to his perch you caught the slightest micro expression on his face. A tiny shrug with only his lips and eyes. Your own face lifted more dramatically. Definitely not micro. You wore a severe question on your eyebrows and you angled your face to really sell the sass that surged through you. That this man sauntered into your door and threw away your things…

“I cleaned up a bit,” he mumbled flatly, lifting his eyes to break the eye contact now, the corners of his lips pulling into the slightest grin, “threw out some trash.”

“Kyungsoo, those were expensive. I could have saved them—” As soon as it came out it felt like the wrong thing to say. You pulled your lips together tightly when his eyes flew over to you, wide at first, then slowly narrowing as his brows furrowed, his expression running the gamut of several competing emotions all at once before he opened his mouth to speak, picking the safest conclusion that his heart could take.

”Do you want me to wear a condom? But, before you said—”

You lifted both hands, taking the three steps it took to close the distance between you both as you shook your head back and forth; opening your mouth to explain yourself, “I was going to give them to my friends.”

“Single friends. For them to use with other people.” You reached for him with both hands, your palms landing over his cheeks. He was warm. His skin was smooth. Your first soft touches of his skin had his eyes closing up as he leaned his head back, his face begging you down to him like he was the sunflower and you were the sunlight. You’d stepped in close enough to land between his parted knees and in one fluid motion his arms reached for you, wrapping tightly around you, high up around your waist with his left, his right palm landing over the back of your upper thigh, just below the short skirt of this dress.

You were already moving into him with the words of reassurance you gave him. The lean into his lips came as naturally as the promises you gave him and that first kiss, after nearly 12 hours of missing him, had you trembling and gasping when you pulled away from his kiss, just enough to speak again. His mouth felt so needy. His hands trembled when they moved over you and gripped you so tightly wherever they paused; as if the time apart might have been even harder on him than it was on you; as if this had been all he could think about for hours now.

“But I don't need to. We can just throw them away and be done with it.” The words came out slower and stuttered a bit. He had moved to kiss along your neck and the deep breaths he took from just below your ear heated your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. He came back again and again, breathing you in deeply; moaning in response to your scent filling his nose; no doubt getting a face full of your still damp hair but not minding it one bit with the way his mouth opened and he bit you on your neck, and again on your shoulder.

“They’d probably demand to know who I was dating and I don't know if we should tell anyone else about us before we tell Claire—” you gasped when he bit you again, harder this time. At the same time he pulled you into him — strong hands on the backs of your knees. Pulling you onto his lap, straddling his waist here on your bed. Your sweet little summer dress moved out of the way too easily and you hissed to feel the scratchiness of his jeans against the softness of your inner thighs.

“Wait, Claire doesn’t know?” He asked from somewhere nestled up against your breast, sounding genuinely surprised to find this out. When he’d pulled his face back up to ask you the question you felt the chilly air blowing over your wet nipple that he’d just been sucking on. You didn't even know when he’d pulled the straps of your dress and your bra off your shoulders.

You shook your head to answer him, not quite committing to this conversation anymore. He should learn to pick between wanting to fuck you or wanting to have an important conversation because you simply could not multitask like this. Your skin felt on fire. There simply wasn’t enough energy for the critical thinking part of your brain.

You moved your hips over his lap again, feeling the definite arousal below the jeans but unable to get the right feeling with the belt, the zipper, the thick and very scratchy fabric. You had to fix this. You pushed yourself away from him and up onto your feet, quickly lifting your summer dress from the bottom up and over your head in a single motion. You did the same with the bra and panties while also reaching a free hand around the back of his head to grip that hat. It came off easily, freeing his clean black hair. It flew so easily with a little flick of your wrist. Kyungsoo was moving too, his hands making quick work of his shirt; freeing himself of the belt, the button, the zipper, pushing everything down and kicking it all away.

“Well, when will you tell her?” It was the secrecy that was bothering him. You knew he didn’t like that part. He fell backwards onto your bed, completely naked except for the black socks that still covered his feet.

The subject matter of this conversation felt vaguely important, but the sight of him still wearing his socks had you giggling and you reached for his feet, gripping the socks and pulling them off as you tossed them away onto the floor behind you at the same time as you made the journey up and over him.

The dissonance in your mind couldn’t process his words, not really. You only half registered his important question while processing the way it felt for his warm smooth skin slipping against yours like this. The fact that he was still trying to have this conversation was insane. You’d made your way up to straddle over his waist, lifting your hips as you slid up the length of his hardness. You moved up to the tip of him, then switched directions and moved back down again, throwing your head back from the pleasure of feeling him slipping between your legs, sliding within your wetness, bumping and rubbing against your sensitive center. You both felt too much ready for this to last very long.

His eyes had drifted closed. His hands were digging into your thighs, fingers leaving red marks. His mouth had fallen open with whatever silly topics he wanted to bring up now. Now, of all times, right now?

Those words were suspended somewhere within his throat and you moved over him again, watching the changes his face went through as you did it.

“Will you give me some time to tell her? I have to do it right.” If he wanted to keep bringing it up, you’d oblige him. “Carefully.”

His eyes didn’t open with your question and he pulled his mouth closed and swallowed once, opening his mouth again, half closing again before breathing out his response. “D-Don’t,” his chest was heaving up and down and you lifted your hips again, giving just a little more pressure against the length of him with your journey. He hissed and bared his teeth.

“Don't what, baby? Don't do this?” You moved over him again, lifting your hips, letting the tip of him slip inside of you for just a second before moving lower, letting the angle slip and he popped back out of place, slipping out of you. Losing that connection you both so desperately wanted.

The grip of his hands grew tighter and you heard the smallest whispered ‘fuck’ escape from his lips.

“Don't ask me…

I’ll give you anything you want right now.

W-What?

Time?

Sure. Take all the time you want — just,” that tight grip he held your thighs with shifted and he sat up against you, he pushed hard against the hold you kept over him with your hips in place and he wrapped a very strong left arm around your waist and squeezed too tight, too unexpectedly tight. You ached from the roughness he treated you with. “Just—” he whispered once more.

“—fuck me,” he said this so close to your face you felt his hot breath fanning over your lips.

His black eyes were no longer closed. He was no longer playing along with this game you were playing. His face pulled back again so he could look into your eyes while he moved his right hand between your bodies. He gripped his dick and paired with the lifting of your body you felt the tip of him slip inside of you. You were released and you sunk down onto his lap. He pushed his hips up to fill you completely in a swift, shocking motion. It took your breath and your mind away from you and you froze, gasping with your mouth open; inundated and overwhelmed.

Kyungsoo leaned his face into yours again, leaning with hot lips and his open mouth and pulled your tongue into his mouth, sucking you into him, wrapping himself tightly around you and guiding your rhythm over him until he became too overcome to keep up the frenzy and let go just enough, just enough.

Every inch of your skin felt hot and clammy, especially the parts that touched his skin, and there was so very much of his skin touching yours. The sweat didn’t belong entirely to you and he was glistening with wet when he fell back onto the bed; chest heaving with labored breaths that matched your own and you felt it all over; that desperation for the release that was there — was just there, you could feel it, you could taste it. You sought it out right there on top of him and the glimpses you took of his face before you had to close your eyes— oh, he was watching you with his ravenous eyes. He’d been starving for hours for this. He watched you do it as long as he could stand; until he himself could stand no more.

You’d made some attempt to move. You were hot and damp, sticky and wet — and yet — you felt so outside of yourself that the moment his soft fingertips reached up to lightly graze over the bare skin just below your belly button, slipping those fingertips around with a purposeful touch on your hip; any desire to escape this discomfort fell to the back of your mind.

Kyungsoo sat up then, reaching for you, pulling you down over his skin and you simply fell. At some point he’d slipped out from inside of you. At some point there was a mess that was wicked away by the plush fabric of the bedspread below both of your bodies. His hands moved like feathers over your skin and you laid with him on this bed, existing in this moment as the ceiling fan slowly began to cool your skin enough for some of the dampness to evaporate, cooling your shoulder, your hip, your bare leg. He was still touching your skin, looking at your face with warm eyes and leaning in for slow, languid kisses. Slow and delicate enough for your lips and his lips to mold together, sticking together with how hesitant he was to escape your mouth.

It must have been ages — this kiss with no end.

You and him — with no end.

He kissed you until the chill began to set in and your skin erupted in goosebumps. He wrapped you up in his arms and his legs and he kissed you some more. Through the giggles and through the silliness that grew as gradually as this unbelievable love, starting deep down inside somewhere, growing, and building until the first few giggles broke free from your mouth, quickly met with his own giggles that made your teeth bump together.

It was your stomach that finally betrayed you. The loud growling noise echoed out and you both looked down at the interruption before you sought out his eyes that looked into your face with a furrow of concern.

“You didn’t eat dinner?”

You frowned your lips down and gave the smallest head shake. His eyes roamed over your face and your frown deepened further.

“Lunch?” He asked. You bit down on your lip and shook your head again. You’d actually completely forgotten that food existed until this very moment when suddenly it was all you could think about.

“Oh my god,” he was sitting up. He was pushing himself up onto two shaky legs as he looked around your floor for something to deal with the mess he’d suddenly noticed was all over his belly. His hands were extended away from his body and he spun a little bit, giving you a view of the cutest, perkiest ass ever; and he seemed to be having trouble deciding what his next move would be.

“Shower.” He said suddenly, taking several wide set and careful steps away from your bed and toward your bathroom. He’d nearly made it into the bathroom when you heard his fingers snapping, “Come on, shower,” he repeated. You hadn’t realized he was talking to you too but you pushed yourself off the bed, reaching for the entirety of your bedspread and pulling it off so you wouldn't forget about this giant wet spot and accidentally sleep in it tonight.

You heard the water running and you quickly made your way into the bathroom just as he was stepping inside of the water.

Inside of the water, he was warm. He was lovely and he was beautiful as he cleaned up using your soap and shampoo. You didn’t think he had to wash his hair, it had been so clean already but you followed him lead and did the same, spinning around to take turns under the stream when it was time for a rinse.

The shower, like the sex had served its purpose and you emerged from both feeling like a new person. As you toweled off and began to pull on another pair of clean underwear you had a curiosity that needed satisfying.

“How many times did you have to try the door code?”

Kyungsoo was running your hairbrush through his hair and he caught your reflection in the mirror.

“Just once. Got it right away.” He said with an air of confidence that you didn't quite buy. You’d never even mentioned your birthday to him. You watched his profile as he stared at himself in the mirror, long after his hair was combed and he was nearly completely dressed save for the socks which you had tossed pretty far— those might take some searching to find.

“How did you find out my birthdate?”

He swallowed and he blinked. Then he looked away from you and you made a whining sound, poking him in the ribs a few times to get him to spill it.

“Umm…I found out from Claire—” he started to speak. The moment her name was on his lips, your eyes went wide and you just reacted.

“No, Kyungsoo. Claire doesn't know about us. I need to be the one to tell her, Kyungsoo. I need to say it myself. I have to ask her forgiveness for all the trouble I caused and I have to be the one to tell her first. She can't find out from anyone else -- you don’t know her like I know her, Doh Kyungsoo!” Your panic was evident in your voice. You were speaking fast and your voice was high-pitched and loud.

He actually flinched three times as you were berating him and his jaw clenched and set hard upon the last usage of his name; his entire name.

“Excuse me, ma’am—” Kyungsoo raised his voice suddenly. Not shouting but matching your volume quite well, his arms were crossed over his chest and he was looking at you with wide eyes and a seriously admonishing expression on his face.

You stopped the diatribe abruptly, standing in front of him with your mouth open from the panic that was still surging through you. How would you ever make this up to her? She was your absolute dearest friend and she was very sensitive to things like this. Your eyes roamed over the scene in front of you, focusing on the light switch briefly as you tried to think of something that might fix this.

Did he seriously call her to ask for your birthday as if that wouldn't raise all of the red flags in the world? One time you’d gone out to get food with friends and you forgot to hit send on her invitation message. She thought you purposefully left her out and didn't speak to you for a month. This was so, so, so much worse.

You heard a loud snapping noise and it pulled your attention away from the doorway of this bathroom and over to the sudden sound and movement happening in front of your face. It was him. This troublemaker.

“Hey. Princess.” his eyes were wider now, his voice full of sarcasm. he definitely used this word as a pejorative. Filled with that achingly familiar sarcasm that he used to use before — before falling in love with you, before making you fall in love with him, before acting all sweet as shit, before fucking you dizzy and promising to make you something to eat, before pulling you into this bathroom to drop this bomb on you.

Princess? Really? Was this happening again?

”What?” You didn't want to be answering to this, but he had definitely captured your attention. His head was shaking back and forth quickly and he still had his hand raised from all the snapping to get you to look at him. Did he think you were some sort of a wild animal that needed to be lured?

”I wasn’t finished talking. You asked me how I found out about your birthday. I said—”

”You asked Claire for it.” The defeat was setting in now. It felt hopeless. She would take a year to forgive you, for sure.

”I said,” he spoke clearer, “I got it from Claire — ‘sssss instagram post from your birthday last year or I would have said that if you hadn’t rudely interrupted me.”

You released the breath you had been holding and you closed your eyes up as the relief surged through you. You placed a hand on your chest as you felt your heart beat beginning to settle down again.

He gave you a few moments of just breathing before he spoke again.

“When will you tell her?”

This pulled your attention back on him and away from your own biofeedback session to settle your insides down. You really were starting to feel irrational from the hunger.

“I’ll tell her soon,” you promised vaguely as you made your way through your home to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and pulled out a jar of nuts.

“Yeah, but when? I understand that you need to tell your friend alone but I don't like us being a secret. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You just said, I could have all the time I wanted,” you said, chewing on a handful of nuts in a very unladylike fashion straight from the palm of your hand; a single index finger, you pointed behind you toward your bedroom to remind him what you both had just been doing.

Kyungsoo shook his head once, on his face a very real expression of confusion. “When did I say that?”

“Just a while ago,” you said with a shrug. His eyes moved from your face, over to where you pointed and then further around the room you both stood in. Slowly, you watched his face change as the edges of the memory came back to him. He opened his mouth very slightly and his eyebrows furrowed. Then he leaned his face forward toward you and mumbled through clenched teeth.

“While we were fucking? Did I promise you something while my dick was inside of you—-oh,” he had a grimace on his face, “oh, no, no —“ his hands were waving lightly, “no, baby, no. That doesn’t count. That’s not a real promise. That was not me.” A hand laid over his chest.

That same hand moved down to cup over his crotch. “That was him.” His penis. The troublemaker, who, it seemed, was somehow absolved from fulfilling promises simply by the nature of existence.

Nonsense.

You looked at his face without responding with words. You just blinked, slow and steadily until his grin flattened and he pouted out his bottom lip.

“What about when you said you needed me to help you pack for your trip? Was that just him talking?”

“No, that is true,” he said, his eyes down on your hand as you shoved another small palmful of nuts into your mouth. You hadn’t quite gotten them all and he leaned forward and captured the two remaining bits with his parted lips, using the same technique as you. Diving right in like a horse with a sack of feed.

“I do need to pack. I did miss you.” He was chewing as he talked, steering your hand holding the jar of nuts to tip it over and pour some more out.

“I was spiraling all day. Like, nothing else mattered. Nothing could fix it. And when I finally fell apart and called you and then you didn’t answer—I was…not handling it…well. I wanted to go back. It felt like…something had ended.”

“I cried on the airplane,” you confessed quietly and his eyes widened marginally; his empathy and the emotions attached evident in the downward curve of his eyebrows and his eyes searched over your entire face as you spoke. “Some little kid pointed it out, very loudly, and then everyone was looking at me and that made me cry even harder.”

The little frown on his lips turned deeper. “You missed me that much?” He’d taken the can out of your hand and placed it on the countertop behind you, using that motion to wrap his arms around you, fully enclosing you in a tight embrace.

“No. I missed the spiders,” you mumbled from within the warmth and security of his arms. The words were muffled by his chest muscles and your little attempt at brevity brought out a chuckle from somewhere in his chest. His arms rubbed slow circles over your back. He was everything you needed and wanted.

“Of course, it was you. I missed you.” You had to say it to him. He was so open and so lovely with you, you needed him to know how deep your love ran. He was lovely. He was warm and comforting and you could trust him with your heart. You knew it as an irrefutable fact.

And he was going to give you all the time you needed to talk to your best friend before anyone else found out about this.

“We both missed you.” You whispered while pulling your face up to look at him; of course referring to the sex, in the same way he gave his penis credit for his actions earlier. His lips slowly pulled into a grin as he looked down at you; no confusion about who you were suddenly speaking for. Through lifted brows and with a pointed look you added, “and a promise is a promise.”

He stiffened lightly, a tiny jolt of understanding and his lips opened to speak to this, to offer whatever silly opinion he had about what he could and could not tolerate as far as this relationship and you lifted your eyebrows higher.

“I was talking to him, Kyungsoo,” you said sharply, before he could go back on his word and offer up any more protests. Your meaning was clear. He could give you this much grace. He could be reasonable. You weren’t asking for a year, just a few days.

You reached a hand down quickly and the man actually flinched, angling his hips away from you. Your rapid movements and indirect conversation with his penis had spooked him.

“Come on, let’s go pack for your trip.” You giggled and reached for his hand, taking a step with him in tow behind you. You felt occasional resistance against your tugging hand as he reached back to grab the ball cap he’d tossed onto the counter after he’d gotten dressed in your bedroom and he turned off the lights he passed along the way.

You made your way through your home toward the door, grabbing your phone and keys and stuffing them quickly into a purse you had hanging by the front door and you pulled him through the threshold, not once letting go of that hand that held you just as tightly as you held him.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Rat Bastard Masterlist

#self reblog

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 5 days ago

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