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The Dinner Party

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Min Yoongi hasn't fucked you yet.

He probably hasn't fucked a lot of people since Namjoon's dinner party. But then again, maybe he has. He could be doing anything or anyone, when he's not in the studio or showing up where you least expect him.

One night he even found you in the rare books room. Restocking books by yourself had left you mind-numbingly bored, but he hadn't. He never does. He left you delirious from his kisses and pleading with him touch you. Well, he was annoyed. You had demanded he take out his drink.

You explained some of the books were irreplaceable. (Irreplaceable!)

Disinterested look on his face, Yoongi sipped his iced coffee. "They're in cases."

He wasn't wrong. Every book was either shelved on the other side of the room or under glass. He lifted a hand to rap on the cover.

"Don't knock on the glass," you admonished. "Coffee. Outside."

You pointed for good measure, and you didn't miss his muttered swear as he stomped out of the room. He returned without his coffee, pushed you up against the door, and kissed you in an unrushed fervor, molding his lips over yours and tasting you with languid strokes of his tongue.

"Someone will hear," you mumbled through a broken moan as he sucked on that sensitive spot on your neck. The door wasn't very thick, and there were a lot of students out there.

"Then be quiet," he said in a harsh whisper. "I've been told not to touch the glass, so this is where I have to put you."

You shiver at the memory. Following him on the crowded sidewalk, you try to keep up with his surprisingly brisk pace. Moving in and out of the dull light of the streetlamps, he looks even more ethereal than usual. He had shown up at your building late to take you out. You were already in pajamas. He wore black slacks and a black button down, so similar to the night you met, you practically had a flashback. It did nothing to hinder your secret hitman fantasy. You hastily threw on a heavy sweater, skirt and thigh high tights. You hadn't missed the way his eyes landed on them. He's in a good mood tonight. It's a good look on him.

So maybe not being fucked by Min Yoongi is not a selective group, but you want to leave and be part of the group of people he has fucked. Now that you have a chance, you really want to join. Your muddled thoughts ruminate on little else these days.

You walk out of the freezing cold night into the packed entryway of the restaurant. The waiting area is a narrow ramp. At the head stands a small podium, and Yoongi gives his name to the hostess. The restaurant is a smooshed rectangular space. It feels as if you stand at the crowded entrance to a train's dining car. A narrow bar stands along the left wall. It's packed with patrons huddled close together. The right side has small tables, each with only room for two people. Diners are packed closely together. The lights are muted, and small votive candles flicker at each of the tables. You feel like you're traveling somewhere new and adventurous.

Yoongi turns to face you, rubbing his hands together. "This place is the best. I always come here when I finish a project." He pulls you behind him, so the two of you can wait against the entryway wall for his name to be called.  He looks at you quizzically. "You okay?"

Could you explain what's wrong? Could you just say, why don't you fuck me? Is that an option? "Just cold."

"Come here," he wraps his arms around you, clasping his hands at your lower back. It's happening again, him acting like you're officially together or something. It's all the little things, bringing you coffee, holding your hand, knowing your schedule.

An empty feeling invades the pit of your stomach. Oh God, maybe you're the practice girl. Maybe he's trying out the notion of dating with you as subject number one. You shiver and try not to let it get to you. It's still fun, whatever it is.

He moves a hand under your wool sweater to the small of your back, as if to calm you. His calloused fingers press into your skin. Instead of soothing you, his touch awakens your body. You squirm under his hand, not from discomfort, but from the exact opposite. He doesn't stop. He knows you by now. He knows how much it excites you to be trapped between his hands and your desire. You look up to see a hint of a smile on his face.  

Are you as much an experiment for him, as he is for you? He is surprisingly monk-like, for all his reputation for debauchery. Everything you've done, every kiss, every grope, all of your clothes have been on. There have been a few more late night phones calls, but no actual orgasms with the other person in the room. He hasn't even seen you naked.

His hands roam, moving up from your waist, fingers massaging your skin.

He looks at you with a questioning gaze. "How do you do it?"


"I can't keep my hands off you." He says with a gummy smile.

Oh dear, you think, as his eyes sort of twinkle at you. There's one thing you never considered in all of this. You never considered your heart might be at risk. Watching him look so happy with his hands around you, as if you are the only thing that matters in his world, it seems a real possibility.

No, noooooo, no.

You can't do that. You need to leave your heart out of this. You can't fall for him, not really.

His hands graze below your breasts, thumbs running along the bottom edge of your bra. You grin at him, glad for the distraction from your troubling thoughts. Yoongi just needs to move a little closer. You ache with anticipation and arch your body in a silent request for him to touch your breasts.

His hands tighten their grip just below the swell of your breasts, thumbs running closer, closer. Please, you think please, please, please, you're gonna like them so much.

"You are so cute," he murmurs. "I just want to play with you."

You smile slow. "So when are you gonna fuck me?"

Yoongi, mouth open in surprise, finally glides his thumb over your peaked nipple and discovers the small barbell.


Yoongi's breath catches in his throat. He's pretty sure he's dying. He's literally dying. "What? How?"

You give a low moan when his thumb grazes over your nipple again.

"Is that a . . . how?" He swallows thickly.

You look so smug and so pleased with yourself. He loves that look on you. Last time he saw it you had won an argument with Namjoon, but this is a hell of a lot better.

"How long?" he asks, plucking ever so gently.

You quiver under his touch. "Almost two years," you say, licking your lips.

Fuck, he wants to ruin you.

Wait a minute. If it's been two years that means idiot goatee guy and whoever the hell else has seen them. They don't deserve to see what he knows are your sweet fucking tits.

He's mesmerized with the thought of tasting and licking your pretty nipples with these little barbells. He knows how much you would like it. He's cataloged every sigh and every whimper. He's memorized every time you beg for more and every time your fingers dig into his skin and every time you wrench his clothes. It's a language all your own. He can translate it now.

"You haven't answered my question, though." Your brow is scrunched in concentration. You don't pout or whine. You really want to know, he realizes. You really want to know why he hasn't fucked you yet.

The truth is he doesn't know. He doesn't usually hesitate to go after what he wants. It's how he's gotten as far as he has in his career and in school. He doesn't stop himself.

This is different, though. For some reason he's waiting. He wants to drag it out. He wants to see how long he can tease himself, wants to see you brought to the edge with lust and longing for him, just him. Do you not get it? It's all he thinks about.

"It's all I think about."

"Jesus, you don't need to lie." You roll your eyes. "I just asked." You move back a step. His hands slide down and come out from under your sweater.

You do that, he thinks. You're always ready to move away at a moment's notice, as if you're both actors and the director has just called 'cut'. He feels cold without his hands on you. He wants back.

"I'm not lying."

The hostess calls his name.  

Before he can think of what to say, he would rather keep the hostess waiting than have you think he doesn't want you, you move to the podium. Both of you make the proper pleasantries, smiling at the hostess, nodding to the waitress, taking the menus. You're seated across the small table from him, both of you crammed against the wall. Waiters jostle you as they move by. It's a lively, loud place, and it's his favorite restaurant. He doesn't usually take anyone here. He usually sits at the bar and enjoys a meal and a celebratory drink alone. The two of you go through the motions, ordering drinks, not really talking about anything important. He hasn't given you a real answer, and he's nervous. He doesn't know what to say. The waitress leaves after taking your dinner order.

"Look, I know you don't do drama." You look up the ceiling. "Sorry about before."

"Don't apologize. This isn't drama."

"Then what is it?" you ask, taking a drink.

He realizes now how the last few weeks must have looked to you. God, he's an idiot. "I just wanted to, I don't know, wait."

"I'm practice."


"Like, some sort of practice girl for the real girl you like."

"You are the real girl I like."

"You don't have to explain. Whatever this is, I like it. It's fun."

He's not good with words. It's why he hasn't done this in so long. It's why he likes the way you just say stuff. You've asked for very few explanations, really. He should be giving you more.

"I would show up at your work, but you don't have a job and all you do is hang out in your studio."

"You can come to my studio."

"Now, you're lying."

"You think I haven't thought of it?"

"What?" You take a sip of wine.

He leans across the table and lowers his voice. "You think I haven't thought about fucking you in my studio."

You choke on your drink. He would feel bad but he saw that shiver of delight course through your body at his casual mention of his basest fantasies.

"It's a small room, but you seem pretty flexible. There's a desk and a chair. We can make it work."

He basically describing interior design, but your face is already going hot.

"But now I have something else to think about." He raises an eyebrow and stares pointedly at your chest. "Really wish I could see them though."

Now it's your turn to look smug. You cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Maybe if you're good." You say, sounding very schoolmarm.

He laughs. It really is a pity he hasn't spanked you yet. He needs to reorganize his priorities.

"I do really, though, quite adamantly want to see your piercings." He swallows. "I want to see them so fucking much, and I didn't even know they existed until half an hour ago, and I'm sure that they are just perfect, and . . ." He clenches his fists, resting them on his knees. "I hate that others have seen them. I just really want to see them for myself."

He's starting to sound like a cartoon villain, but he can't help it.

"They are actually pretty great," you admit, leaning in close. "But here?"

How did you think of that before him? He really likes you.

He nods.

Will you, he wonders. He wouldn't be hurt if you don't, but he wants. He wants so fucking much for you to show him. He's had partners do as much before, he's done most everything he's ever wanted, but he knows you haven't— the way your breath catches, the way you chew your bottom lip and look down at the place setting as if it held the answer to question unknowable by the universe. Possessiveness grows within him. He wants all of you for him, but he doesn't want to scare you off. "If you don't want to, that's fine too. Really. It's cool, you know, whatever."

"You're stuttering," you say, looking up to meet his eye. "Holy shit, you really want to see my tits."

He couldn't have put it better himself. He nods, finishing his drink to give him something to do with his hands.


Min Yoongi wants to see your tits and you are thinking about showing him in this restaurant.

"Please," he says, all politeness.

No one, literally no one on the planet, has ever looked this excited at just the idea of you taking your shirt off, just the hint of a tit, the soupçon of a nipple.

You start laughing.

"Don't laugh at me," he pouts.

You told yourself you would keep going as long as this was fun. The last few weeks have been fun. You know him well enough now to know that he won't push you beyond where you want to go. He might lead, but he won't be hurt you if you don't follow. Besides, they really are great.

Your heart beats a steady staccato, as you muster the necessary courage. You wore a pretty bra, just in case. Nothing fancy, just a soft black triangle bra, some kind of flower embroidered on it. Your panties match, too. You hope he likes it, even though you scold yourself. You like it, that's all that should matter.

You run a finger under the edge of your scooped neck sweater. Are you really going to? Your fingers pause. You glance around the restaurant. No one is looking at you. The other patrons are crowded by the bar talking loudly or marooned at these little tables like you and Yoongi, leaning toward their companion, voices just loud enough to be heard over the din.

Your heart is beating so fast. You take in his appearance watching you. His eyes light up with anticipation, and he leans forward. There's no reason to stop now. You like it so much when he approves, when he knows just how proud you are of yourself.

 You keep going, finger grazing lower, pushing down the edge of your sweater to expose the simple scalloped top of your bra.

"Please," he whispers.

You push the mesh aside, unable to stop yourself from teasing your nipple, hand covering the piercing as you go, breath catching at the way it feels, the way you feel like you are completely in control.

You move your hand, curving to the side, as if giving him an offering. You give a small stroke to the side of your breast, fingers anxious and struggling not to cover yourself back up. You wish you could capture the look on his face.

"Fuck," Yoongi whispers.


It's better than he thought it would be. Perfect handful. Small nipple he wishes he could taste and suck. Perfect little barbell he wants between his lips.

He glances to your face. Your eyes are wide, even as you bite your bottom lip. Your chest is heaving. Your hands stroke the side of your breast, and a soft whimper escapes as he watches. He can't believe how brave you are.

He realizes somehow that you are waiting. You are fucking waiting for him to give you a signal to cover yourself up again. Oh fuck, he likes you so much. He gives you a nod.

You exhale and push your bra back so you're covered up again, not stopping yourself from brushing your thumb over the mesh and giving yourself a shiver. You hastily move your sweater to cover yourself.

"I really did that." You look up at the ceiling in disbelief.

"Yeah," he laughs. "You're sweet, you know."

Then the two of you are just sitting there, smiling at each other like fools.


The waitress brings your food. It's delicious. You savor every bite, enjoying the easy companionship borne of showing him your tits you guess. Who would have thought?

You listen to him talk about the class he's teaching next semester and he asks you more questions about your thesis. The night goes on and on and eventually winds down. The wine bottle is empty now, and you're done with dessert and Yoongi is drinking a whiskey. It's been lovely, but you don't want it to end. That's the problem. You keep telling yourself that you will take whatever you can get from him, but it's a lie.

"I want more." You say, startling yourself and the waitress who appeared to take your plates. Now you have to embarrassingly wave her off as she thinks you aren't done with your dinner.

"What?" Yoongi says, covering his smile with his hands held together as if in contemplation, thumbs under his chin.

"I'm not saying I want candlelit dinners or long walks in the park." You're unlikely to be the one who converts him, anyway, his reputation being what it is.

He reaches past the empty wine bottle on the table. He wears silver rings on his middle and ring fingers, and his hands look as if carved from stone. You want to memorize every ridge, every vein, want to find a way to show how they make you feel. If you were an artist you could draw them, but you're nothing like that. You're not good at making something where nothing existed before. You good at putting things in order and finding things for other people. You're a cataloger of other people's creations.

Yoongi rests his hand on your clenched fist. You must look like you're readying for a fight. He brings warmth with his touch, and for a moment you let yourself imagine this scene as if you're much older, as if you've been together for years, and you do this regularly, go out to dinner and talk about your day.

No, you remind yourself, that isn't what this is.

"What do you want?" He says in that low, rasping voice.

His hand gently squeezes yours, and his fingers seem to plead with you. You release your grip, laying your hand flat on the table, palm up. He strokes your palm slowly. Sparks ignite and cascade over your skin. He glides up your fingers until resting on your fingertips, taping them gently. You stare, mesmerized at the way he focuses on your hand as if it were the a new instrument to play. You feel laid bare and you resist the urge to pull back, even as the distress causes a pleasurable ache between your thighs.

"What do you want, sweetheart?"

"I want you."

You hear his exhale, as he threads his fingers through yours, pulling your hand closer. He doesn't look up from where his thumbs rub your palm. "Me too."

"You want you too?" It's always easier to sound like an idiot than deal with whatever he says that makes you heart flutter in your chest.

"I'm pretty good." He shrugs. "What can I say?" He's moved his hand to rub his thumb against your wrist with pressure that has your core gently throbbing. "Your place is closer."

"I live in a cement rectangle with a mattress on the floor. It would feel like prison sex."

He huffs a laugh. "My place then."

"I don't want to wait that long." You've never been to his place but it's far away from downtown. "Please."

Now he glances up at you. He has that look on his face. The one where he gives in to you. Before you can stop it, a lightness spreads through you, and you want to explode in warmth and joy. Does he do this with everyone? Or is it just you? You want it to be just you. No, you remind yourself, your heart doesn't belong here. She doesn't get to be a part of this. You gently nudge your heart outside.

"Sweetheart, we're at a restaurant."

You squirm in your seat, rubbing your legs together. He gradually tightens his pressure on your wrist and you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan.

"I can't do anything, can I?" His exasperation doesn't sound feigned. "There are people watching. I can't put you in my lap, I can't taste you, I can't watch you come apart."

The images assault you. You've thought of all of that. You want to do all of that.

"I can't find out if you really can cum riding my thigh."

"I am like 110% certain I can. I just want to be sure we're on the same page about this."

"I can't bend you over the table."

"You keep talking about that, but you keep not having done it."

"I can't slide my hands under your skirt." He sighs. "And you're wearing those fucking tights again."

"You like my tights. There's no need to swear."

"You don't mind it though, do you?" He leans back in his chair. His hand grazes against your palm, but he finally gives up his exploration, dragging his hand back to reach his glass of whiskey. He takes a sip. "I really want to see you in them and nothing else."

"We can't do any of that here."

"No, we can't." He blinks at you. "Too bad, though, I think you would like to be watched."


"I think . . ." His gaze hardens. "You would like it if I fucked you and these people watched."

You heart hammers in your chest. "I never said—"

"You don't have to." He wets his lips. "I just think you would like it."

"We would get arrested." You can't believe you are thinking about the particulars. You should be thinking, no I don't want to, but you do want to, very much so. You squirm in your seat, trying for some relief. Your slick pussy is throbbing at just the mention of him wanting to be with you.

"Well, there's places we can do it and we won't get arrested. These fine people are just going to have to miss out."

"You would really want to do that?" You swallow, throat dry. "With me? Like, you and me together and people watching us?"


But then it hits you. "But you've done it before, I mean, in front of an audience."

He bites back a smile. "Not on a stage, but yes."

"So it's not a big deal."

"If it's a big deal to you, it would be a big deal to me."

"I've never had the opportunity or . . . or someone interested." That's the real difference. "No one saw me that way, as someone who would want it."

"I do."

"Why? How?" Your brain scrambles, as you try to follow along. He's always a few steps ahead of you.

"It's not that hard to figure out if you pay attention."

That's the thing, you think. The others never paid attention.


"At the club."

You've heard of it, you know he and his friends all belong to some bdsm club. It's far too expensive for you to have joined, even if you had the wherewithal. You know nothing about it, except it's the other place he goes other than his studio. But that's a story for someone else, isn't it? "Don't joke about it."

"I'm not." He scoffs. "I'm not saying the first time I fuck you I want to be in front of an audience." He twists his lips. "Thanks."

The waitress hands him the check with a doubtful look. She sweeps her gaze on you, like she isn't sure you have what it takes, before walking away.

"Yeah, me neither." You consider. "Maybe after we've had some practice."

"We'll do fine." He holds the pen tightly in his hand, shoving the signed slip back in the holder. "But you should know some things."

Oh god, does he have some weird demands, is this where you find out that he's with other women too, or some rule you need to comply with?

"Listen." He puts his palms on the table. "I like to be in control—"

"Well, the revelations are coming fast and furious tonight. I, for one, am shocked—"

"Pet." His voice sounds like a growl.

You sit straighter.  

He runs a hand through his hair. "The only thing I've been thinking about since that night at Joon's is getting you under me and fucking you until you can't remember anyone else has ever touched you."

"Me too," you exhale.

"But I don't want to mess this up, so I'm communicating. "

He's really struggling here. He really needs to say whatever it is he needs to say, and for once you're calmer than him. You're the one in control because he's desperate for you to hear it. You nod.

"I don't want to share, is the other thing." He glances at you. "Whatever we do, if we go to the club or not. If we're together, I don't want anyone else to touch you or be with you."

That's not going to be a hard demand to comply with. You don't want to be with anyone else. "What about you?"

"Huh." He looks dazed as if he's really just expended a lot of energy to tell you these two completely self-evident facts. Does he think you don't pay attention to him?

"Are you going to be with anyone else if we do this?"

He shakes his head.

"Say it."

"No, I'm not going to be with anyone else." He chuckles. "You usually aren't this demanding, I mean, you can be a brat—"

"I like it when people say things out loud."

"Now you tell me something."

"Like what?


"Are you feeling vulnerable because you told me something I knew about you within fifteen minutes of meeting you?"

"Come on," he says, looking up at the ceiling. "You can tell me something you don't like or do like—"


"—just say something." He taps his fingers on the table and looks at you.

He's sitting tense, as if it really did take a lot out of him to have this conversation. Well, you can give him something. You haven't done everything you've wanted to, but you know what you don't like.

"Well, uh, when I'm with someone, I don't like it when they call me a slut or something like that. Most times they can't really sell it. It's sort of half-hearted and I'm like, really, that's all you've got? Why are you talking like this if you can't sell it?" You glance up at him. "I'm guessing that's not a problem for you."

"Uh, no."

"And then when they can sell it, I'm like holy shit you really gave that your all and now I wonder if I am one. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I didn't enjoy it. So now I'm trying to have fun, but I'm worried about internalized misogyny at the same time."

"The shit you come up with, it's unfuckingbelievable."

"I know, okay." You take a deep breath and cross your legs. "I know."

"Hey," he says, looking concerned. "I like when you say shit. I'm not trying to change your mind. No demeaning names, cool."

"Thanks." You shake your head as if it could erase what you said. "It's whatever."

"Do you believe me?"


He narrows his eyes.

"I mostly believe you."

"I'll take it."

"So this has been educational, but what are we going to do? We're still at the restaurant. You're still sitting over there, and I'm still sitting here."

"I have some ideas." He takes a sip of whiskey.

"Do they involve talking? Because I don't really want to talk more." What you want is for him to do something with all this tension thrumming through your body. He can't just leave you like this, trembling and aching with yearning.

"You don't want to hear what I have to say?"

"Of course, sorry." Adult people communicate when they're in a relationship, not that this is a relationship. "Do you want to communicate more?"

"I wanna know how wet you got when I told you I wanted to fuck you in front of all these people."


"Yeah." He's smirking now, the bastard.


"Go on."

Doesn't he get it? He can pretty much just show up and say something sarcastic and your panties are half-way to the floor. He takes another sip of his drink, looking bored in that way that gets you even more excited. You rub your thighs together, your slippery sex needing friction, but getting none. "Sorta."

"Good girls don't lie," he says, leaning close, "not unless they wanna get punished."

Oh fuck, that's a lot. That's a whole hell of a lot of Min Yoongi sitting across the table from you.

"If I slip my hand under your panties," he says, voice slow and menacing, "are you gonna be wet for me?"

You uncross your legs, thighs falling open as if he could see you, as if he asked you to in that voice of his that doesn't allow for disobedience.

You nod.

"Use your words."


"What else do you like? Thinking about me punishing you?"

"That was good, but I also really liked . . ." You take a breath. "It was the hand thing."


"When you gripped my wrist and fingered my hand."

He starts laughing, a gulping laugh he hides behind his hand.

Can you make it through one conversation without making a complete ass out of yourself? Before you can pretend you have an urgent appointment to get to, he leans forward, taking your hand in both of his. He massages your palm. "Breathe before you pass out."

You take a shuddering breath.

"Tell me," he whispers, "how much you like it."

He's still stroking your hand, and he even brings your fingers to his lips.

"A lot." Words are never your friend when you're with him. "I'm not sure I can—"

He nips at your fingers. Your blunt nails are painted pink and you wonder if he likes it. He mouths at your middle finger and pointer finger, just a little, just enough that you can feel his tongue move between the two digits. You let out a whimper as your mouth falls open. "Y-Yoongi"

"I haven't fucked you yet, because I'm gonna take my time with you." His eyes meet yours. "I want you desperate and begging like a good girl for me to fuck that tight, wet cunt."

You exhale. "I'm already all of that."

He huffs a laugh. "Show me."

You tense. He shushes you, brushing his lips over your fingers. "I know you aren't ready for an audience, but you trust me?"

You nod. He lifts your hand and bites down at the base of your palm. You stifle a groan.

"Here's what I need you to do, kitten." He sets your hand back on the table, still stroking your fingers. "Slip off your panties, pass them over to me and then go to the bathroom in the back of the restaurant."

You nod absently. In that tone of voice, you'd do anything he asked. It's a good thing he's trustworthy.

He looks up at you. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You move your hands to your lap, running them up your skirt as it bunches in your hands. Yoongi's staring at you, taking in your cheeks as they heat, your heavy lidded eyes, your bitten red lips. You slip your hands under your skirt, moving higher and higher still.

You don't resist running your thumbs over your panties at the apex of your thighs. Your panties are stuck to your swollen sex, and you quiver from just the gentle pressure of your hand. "Oh fuck, Yoongi."

"What's that?" he asks, taking a sip of his whiskey as if you were talking about the fucking weather.

You exhale and try to stop your heart from pounding out of your chest. "My panties are a mess."

"They're mine, remember."

You swallow and regret moving away from your aching core to hook your thumbs at the sides and pull down you black mesh panties. You slip them down your thighs and awkwardly pull them off your legs, trying not to get them caught in your boots and fling them to the next table. He better appreciate this.

"Hand them over."

You huff. "It's a little tricky, okay."

Finally, you grasp them in your hand. Still under the table you put them on his knee. You lean awkwardly, looking like you're passing a note in class and about to get caught. He doesn't reach for them.

"Up here." He smirks, holding out his hand palm up on the table.

This guy. You roll your eyes. You really will do anything he asks. Slowly, holding your damp panties in a tight grip, you lift your hand and drop them into his.

"Good girl."

You exhale.

"You remember what to do next?"

You nod. You push back your chair awkwardly, limbs stiff from holding your body so tense. You bump the person behind you and apologize in a mumble. You stand, smoothing your skirt. It didn't seem this short earlier.

"Hey," Yoongi says, reaching for your hand. You move to stand next to him as he still sits at the table. "You okay?"

You nod.

"Say it."

"I'm okay." You bite your lip to keep from letting a moan escape. As you stand beside the table, his other hand begins an exploration of your tights, sliding up to dip his finger under the elastic, just as he did that night at Namjoon's. His hand moves higher, inexorably closer to where you need him.

"Yoongiiii," you plead in a whisper, voice wavering.

"You won't have to wait long. Go."

You turn, unthinkingly walking through the throng of people in the crowded restaurant. They crush against you, and you force yourself not to pull down your skirt, not to plaster your hands to your side as if there is something to hide, as if your bare ass couldn't be exposed at any moment with an innocent nudge. The skirt moves against your skin. Every brush against your thighs creates a spark of sensation. It feels beautiful now, not the old, worn thing it actually is.

He's probably watching you. You slow. Of course, he's watching you. It's excruciating, but you hold yourself still, closing your eyes momentarily to focus on the onslaught of sensations flooding your body. Your pussy clenches around nothing, and you cover your mouth, moan threatening to escape.

Another diner stands, pushing in front of you. The innocent movements of the man, pushing back his chair, apologizing for bumping you and putting on his coat, all while you wait is agonizing. You hands shake from holding back the urge to flatten your arms to your body.

Eventually, you make it through the scrum to the back of the restaurant to the two separate bathrooms. Trying to remember what a normal person looks like when they enter a bathroom, you turn the handle and open the door. The bathroom is dark, lit by a lamp in the corner. It's a normal single bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary, except the video screen. There's a video screen on the wall, about the size of a large monitor and its showing a street scene from a country you've never been to, but muted sounds of horns honking and bright chatter fills the bathroom. It feels like you in the second story of a cramped building with traffic and people below you.

Before you have a moment to think about what you're doing, the door opens. A bit of light enters and with it Min Yoongi. He locks the door behind him. He looks so handsome, you can't believe it. This is really real, you remind yourself, really fucking real.

"You stopped." He says, breath ragged. "You just stood there, while that guy brushed against you."

"He was just leaving."

Yoongi grunts as if that were a sufficient response. He clenches the panties in his hand, running them between his fingers. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Fuck me?" You say, voice hopeful.

"Not here." He chuckles, looking around the cramped space. "I don't know what it is about us and bathrooms but the first time I fuck you I'm gonna need a lot more room and I want you loud." His eyes wander your body, as if he's imagining it right now. "I'm gonna make sure you can feel me for days."

He strides forward, and in one movement has you back against the counter, one hand around your waist and the other threading into your hair. He hesitates a moment, lips hovering above yours, as if to give you a moment to prepare yourself. There's nothing really that could prepare you for any of this. You feel his breath against your skin, one heartbeat between the two of you.

Then he's kissing you, demanding and possessive. You can't stop the moan humming from the back of your throat. He angles his head to deepen the kiss, holding you in place just where he wants you. He grips you so tight, as if the force of his hands is the only thing preventing you from disappearing into thin air. You tighten your grip on his shirt. He pulls at your bottom lip, sinking his teeth into it as you mewl. He runs a hand under your skirt to the edge of your tights.

You raise your skirt, dragging it up your thighs. He pulls back, watching you with a dark gaze. Slowly, you drag your skirt higher. The cool air on your wet mound makes you shiver.

Yoongi lets out a muttered swear. "You sure?"

You nod.

"Good girl. I wanna taste."

God, he sounds so desperate. No has ever looked at your pussy like it's the finest meal they've ever had. He moves down to his knees. You are strongly reminded of the last time you saw him like this. So much is the same, but so much has changed, too. How much you will admit to liking him, that's changed.

"If you want me stop, you'll tell me, yeah?" He runs his hands up your thighs.

That hasn't changed, him being considerate.

"I was right." He pushes up your skirt. "So pretty."

You laugh in your nervousness, covering your mouth with your hand. You can feel his breath on your exposed mound.

He doesn't do anything at first, but leave soft, wet kisses on your thighs, nipping at the skin. His hands continue their exploration. You feel worshipped, worthy of his attention, even as your pussy gets wetter the more time he takes. A whine escapes your throat. "P-please, Yoongi."

He moves closer to where you need him, tongue and lips working together. You tense, he's gonna remember right? He's not gonna—

"Relax, kitten." He ignores your swollen clit, but leaves a soft kiss on your mound. He hums in satisfaction. He flattens his tongue and licks a long stripe the length of your slit. You sigh into the sensation. You don't have to worry about anything. You lean back against the counter. Your limbs turning loose and relaxed, as he does it again and again and more, and you have to chew your bottom lip so you don't announce what you are doing to everyone in the restaurant outside.

Then Yoongi runs a finger over your wet pussy. Even that slight sensation has you moving your hips to deepen the contact. He chuckles, but gives in and pushes a finger in your tight canal. You watch as he stares fascinated as he fucks you with his finger. "You're dripping for me."

Your hands grip the counter beside you, your legs feel weak, as desire whirls within you. He moves his lips and tongue over you in a gentle motion. Now he adds a finger and curls them in a come hither motion and you are moaning above him. He groans as if he were the one receiving such ecstasy. "Such a messy girl, aren't you? What am I gonna do with you?"

Your mouth drops open at his words. What the fuck have you been doing with your days, when he could've been doing this?

You lose yourself in it, spiraling higher and higher as he tastes you, still gently thrusting his fingers in and out, tongue peeking out to lap at your clit. Your panting breath mixes with the obscene sounds of Yoongi's licking and sucking, and still the muted street sounds of the video overlay it all, making you feel like you've entered a movie of someone else's life.

You shift your hips, rutting and trying to get just the right angle. So close to coming, but needing just the perfect sensation to get there. What if you can't? What if he thinks you don't like it? What if he's annoyed?

Yoongi pulls back, his fingers stopping in their soothing movements.

You stop the gentle rocking motion of your hips as you tense your legs and hold your body still. "I'm sorry-"

"Shh, baby." He gently removes your hand from where it grips the edge of the counter and leads it down to your swollen clit. "Show me." He looks up at you, meeting your eyes. You expect annoyance or pity, but there's just hunger. "You can show me, yeah?"

Your fingers start their exploration, moving easily at just the right pace to get you there.

"Good girl."

Even that bit of approval is enough to unwind the tight knot of fear that's taken hold, giving you a kind of tranquil confidence. You grind your palm on your mound and rub your hooded clit just like you like. Of course, it's what you like, it's you. But now it's him too. He brings one of his fingers up to his mouth, and he licks it like it's the best fucking thing he's ever tasted. You can feel the bliss swirling in your core. You hover on the edge, feeling the elation build, as you bite your lip trying to hold back your whimpers at the sight of Min Yoongi on his knees in front of you, watching you.

"You look so good," he says, licking his lips, "you're gonna look even better covered in my cum."

The pleasure spirals through you so slowly, drawing you taut as you linger on the edge, it's glorious and agonizing, and you are pretty sure you aren't going to survive this, him.

"That's it, kitten," Yoongi says, still licking his fingers. "Show me what's mine."

Wicked shivers surge through your pussy and an exquisite rapture moves through your body. It's almost too much to handle, and it's so intense, you can't think, can't worry, can't do anything but let the delirium overtake you. You take a deep sobbing breath, as you come back to yourself.

Yoongi's still on his knees, smirking at you. He leans forward, licking at the sloppy mess between your thighs. You're so sensitive, you never though you could handle it, but he's gentle in his exploration of your swollen sex.

"Y-Yoongi," you whimper, barely able to hold yourself upright.

"Take what you need, baby." He murmurs.

You move your hands to his hair angling him just where you want him. Your body relaxed, you don't think twice before grinding down as he flattens his tongue. You writhe above him, thinking only of your own pleasure, your own need. Before you can figure out how the fuck this happened, you're coming again. Ecstasy coursing through you, bright and sharp and exploding. It's so surprising you can't even stop the low cry torn from your throat.

You nudge him mindlessly away, too overstimulated to handle anything more. You look down at him, blinking your eyes open.

Yoongi cocks his head smug, and he should be. He rises to stand before you, thumb swiping his bottom lip. Your slick release covers his lips and chin. You must look a mess too. Before you can worry about it, he kisses you. This time slow, his lips moving over yours at a languid pace. You can taste yourself on him, and you want more. It's new and weird and good.

He pulls back. The two of you stare at each other dazed and wanting. You blink, remembering where you are, remembering that the world doesn't consist of just the two of you in this small room.

He palms his hard cock beneath his jeans, letting out groan. You really shouldn't leave him like this.

"You want?" Funny you are asking him, when all you want is his cock in your mouth. You're practically drooling.

He shakes his head.

You pout. "You sure?"

"This was for you, and I think we were a little loud. We need to get out of here."

"Fuck, sorry."

"Don't apologize." He kisses you again. "I liked it."

You swipe your tongue into his mouth, kissing him back and liking the way he responds, excited for more.

"We have to stop," he says between kisses.

"No, we don't."

"Don't be a brat, I'm not going to fuck you in this bathroom."

"Don't want you to fuck me."

"No?" He kisses you, licking into your mouth, tasting you, reminding you that you're his. It's sloppy and wet and heavenly. You go weak with the force of his onslaught, enjoying being used any way he wants you. When he finally pulls back, he's panting, but still giving you that smirk of his. "You really don't want me to fuck you?"

"Want you to cum down my throat." You say in a raspy whisper with swollen lips.

"Jesus, you're a menace." He slaps your bare ass. Not hard, just enough to give you a sting.

You exhale, holding yourself perfectly still. He's gonna do it again, right? You are this close to begging him to spank you.

Oh no.

"Yoongi," you plead. "I need my panties."

"No, you don't."

"Please," you whine. How are you going to get home like this? It's difficult to know if you're gonna get mad at him or beg him to fuck you. Goddamn it, it's probably both.

"They're mine," Yoongi says, voice not permitting any argument. He smirks. "Besides, you're not being nice."

"I'm being nice." You pull back, his black shirt clutched in your hand so tight, the buttons dig into your fingers. "I just wanna show you how good I can be with my mouth. That's nice."

"Move before I ask for your bra, too." He reaches under your sweater to palm your breast. His hand lingers, caressing and stroking.

Breathless, you writhe under his ministrations. "I thought we were leaving."

He cocks an eyebrow and removes his hand slowly, thumb skimming over your peaked nipple, knowing that you were hoping he wouldn't be strong enough to stop.

You release his shirt from your grip and lean back against the counter, limbs weak and trembling. You let out a shuddering breath.

Yoongi checks his reflection in the mirror, fluffing his hair and straightening his collar. "You ready?"

You're ready for absolutely none of this.

Yoongi picks up your coat and holds it out for you. You slip your arms in and push the buttons through the holes with shaking hands, hoping your nervousness isn't noticeable. Your heart is still standing outside where you've left her. It's for your own good, you think, as she knocks to be let in. There's no way I'm not getting in the middle of this, she calls out. Look at him, he's so kind, and the things he says, too. You steel yourself. Your heart was never supposed to come into this.

Yoongi gazes at you with a questioning look on his face.

You reach for his hand, and he leads you out the door.