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Look at him. Yeah, you can't resist him. He's fucking beautiful, even though men aren't supposed to be beautiful. You don't care.

Hey, he's looking at you now! Smile. Only a little. You're not as quirky as he is, but you're pretty damn irresistible yourself. And when you look at him, you kind of think oh, I want to be fucked by that man. Never mind that you're not gay, or at least you've never been. This guy probably is, though, with that fucking hair of his.

Grin. He drops all these dumb lines on you, like how've you been today and enjoying the party?His voice is deeper than you thought it'd be and combined with his androgynous appearance, you're kind of turned on. Not that kind of turned on, not yet. You smile some more.

Oh, look, your bottle's empty. He says, "I'll get another one for you." You say, "Nah, I'm fine really," and smile. Touch his wrist. He smiles back, and you feel like he's the one who's been watching you.

"Let's go upstairs," you suddenly suggest--and then, for precaution, "I didn't drink much it'll still be fun."

He's pressed against you and you're not sure how he got here, but all you can feel is his heat. He whispers into your ear,

"Sex is always fun."

Don't quite remember when you find the room, and topple into it. You're kissing and you're both on a bed and your fingers are winding through his long hair, weirdly knotted and you pull, like it when he flinches into your mouth. "Stop it," he mutters, and then almost as an afterthought, between your wet kisses, "By the way, what's your name?"

"Jungsu," you say as you start wriggling off your shirt. Your pants. Your underwear.

"Heechul," he replies as he strips down himself.

He sort of throws you onto the bed and you groan, ugh, fuck as his bare body presses against you and you can feel him so hard as he nips at your neck, bites at it. So hard that you can feel every single one of his teeth, incisors and canines and you moan and whine and writhe as he sucks, leaves bruises, probably for the next morning. Your back arches against whoever-the-fuck-it-is's bed and press yourself deep against him, and he grips onto your thighs, mouth practically worshipping your collarbone, shoulders. You can even feel him biting down on your nipples, and then sucking randomly at your chest as if you're a delicious meal that he wants to devour.

And then, oh, yeah, open those legs. You don't even know why you do. But he doesn't fuck you yet; he holds you up by the neck that he'd just bruised and says, "You want this?" His dark hair cascades down to his dark eyes, and you moan, "Fuck, yes," and his grip around your neck grows tighter.

And shit, but he's so hot against you and the difficulty to breathe is making you hard and he rolls his hips, just slightly. You moan again and he says, "You want me to fuck you?" and you choke through his grip on your neck, "Yes, yes, fuck yes," and he slicks himself with some lotion before thrusting into you. You cry, you nearly black out at the oxygen trapped from your lungs, from the delicious hold that he has on you.

He fucks you and bites and you're crying out, or at least you're trying to, nails digging into his forearms. Dear god, you want this, and you orgasm at what you're sure is the wrong time. Black and white, all behind your eyelids, flashing like strobe lights and he pounds into you like a rave and your ass clenches because you want, you want his fingers to tighten around your pretty little neck--and then he comes into you, all hot and wet and fuck it's almost as good as his hands pushing you back, gripping onto your welted neck. Almost.

Shit, he thrusts into you some more even after you've both come and you both like the friction, you sluts. You especially like the friction between the palm of his hand and the nape of your neck. He pulls out and he's hotter than any girl you've ever known. He certainly doesn't fuck like one, though.

"You," he says to you and you say, "Me," and you share that stupid little smile, the smile that hadn't really meant anything but somehow you both know it, do it anyways. You'll never resist him, will you? You don't resist the beautiful people.