A Touch Of Love, 6.
Genre | Romance / Valentine’s Day drabbles.
Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Reader.
Words | 1,187 words.
Some things cannot be rushed, or mayhap they must occur sundry times in order for their purpose to be intently and truly cherished.
It is for this precise reasoning that, as you blearily wake for the onset of another weekday to the sharp chiming of an unbearably early alarm, you discover thickly corded arms coiled loosely around your waist and Jeongguk’s parted lips nestled within the infinitesimal notch just below your collarbone, warm exhalations already stirring into a misarticulate groan. Hardly before you can reach your knuckles up to knead into sleep-laden eyes, he is assiduously manoeuvring your tangled limbs until the tips of his fingers graze the cool screen of your mobile, silencing the insistent ringing with a fumbled press of snooze and then he is collapsing the measure of his weight atop you with a deliberately strenuous sigh. There is a rush of air from your lungs as they deflate beneath his pressure, caught up by a strained, irritable moan on your part that has Jeongguk chuckling and adjusting until his elbows are dug in the pillow either side of your bird nest hair, nose dusting across your own in a silent good morning that he seals with the touch of his chapped and rosy lips. Morning breath be damned to the shades when the edge of his tongue against the seam of your mouth is a finer wake up call than any electronic device humming a digital tune.
And that is only the first of the tireless onslaught that you so terribly adore.
The bed is unwillingly abandoned in a mess of crumpled sheets that remain to be redolent with shampoo from damp hair and last night’s amorous escapade – though not without a tender interspersing of Jeongguk’s mouth across your cheeks, which only then does he at long last release the binds for you to get ready. You listlessly take to the kitchen with dragging feet while he requires a sparse moment to truly gather his scattered bearings, parting the bedroom curtains with a loathsome cringe to the five at dawn sky, the horizon barely beginning to provide an inkling of daylight in an orange dapple amongst the navy stretches of departing nighttime. Jeongguk comes to find you stirring milk and coffee in matching mugs with a palm braced upon the countertop, still fending off the lethargy that urges you to just lay back down, though morality upholds a fierce fight, a reminder that early morning meetings are an unfortunate instance of your job and that attending them is an absolute must if you wish to keep your position. Here, you are graced with the graze of his lips against the flesh of your shoulder that he exposes with a simple hook and tug of his finger around the loose fabric of your pyjama collar, trailing them up to the juncture of your neck and jawline, the gentle caress of his hand releasing the material and rather coming to cup your chin with a pressure ostensibly delicate, tilting your head backward with ease to coo at your drooping, cloudy gaze and place another affectionate kiss upon your lips.
Coffee is liberally and earnestly consumed upon the sofa amongst touches of light, almost incomprehensible conversation. Muddled by Jeongguk interrupting you with generous kisses and teasing little nips of his fingers when your eyes try to slip close for a handful of seconds more rest. Afterward, he watches you from the unmade bed strip down to nothing within the ensuite, indulging the sight of your completely bare glory, already too enthralled to fend off any lascivious ideas that water his mouth and strain sincerely against his boxers. Sooner than he would hope to admit, Jeongguk is peeling what little clothing he wears to join your own in a heap on the bathroom tiles and stepping into the shower, discovering your unsurprised and mildly delighted expression with a smirk of his own that is quick to be kissed away with a feeling that is semblance of the last evening. Most assured when a devilish hand slips between your thighs.
By six, the torrent has not yet ceased, nonetheless Jeongguk has pulled white hot euphoria from between your bones and tasted it on the roof of his mouth, accidentally mixed with the tang of vanilla body wash, and you are much more awake with a spring in your step. He towels your skin and hair dry, gingerly pressing his lips to your breasts and the hollow of your throat, right before bringing them briefly to your own. The both of you vigorously brush teeth, Jeongguk mutedly laughing when the foam spills down your chin and he makes a fierce attempt to kiss you amongst it with your scowling face seized in-between his clutching fingers, mint dentifrice and all. Unrelenting, he catches your lips a multitude of times while you dress into workwear that he deems unbearably titillating because your ass is simply fantastic in that neat pencil skirt – most definitely anticipating the time that he can appreciate the illustrious view in all of its splendid glory once you return home, during the moments that you scamper about the apartment before you finally gain the effort to change into something ultimately more comfortable. Though sweatpants are certainly as fanciable to him, just about anything that you sport is.
The half an hour mark is reached and you have already accepted that the steamy feat in the shower definitely has you late, sending a silent prayer to the morning traffic that there are no roadworks or unexpected collisions that will have you sending a hasty message to the company, warning of your forthcoming absence. With a hurried collection of your coat and briefcase, you reach the front door and spare a second to glance over your shoulder, nearly startled out of your wits when you find Jeongguk poised at your heels. You part your lips to bid him adieu, but he beats you to the punch.
“I know I’ve kissed you enough to make up for the day,” a twitch of a smile begins to pry at his lips, “though ten more couldn’t hurt, right? Please.”
Your eyes roll, though your heart urges you to concur. “I’m running late–”
Jeongguk, in a graceful sweep, brings his hand to the side of your face and slants his lips over your own. He might have been touching his mouth to your skin with devoted insistence since you woke, though none of them quite feel as purely wonderful as this, entirely unforgettable and smothering the thoughts of meetings and files and work, work, work. The way that he licks the tip of his tongue into your mouth, tenderly grazing the underside of your own, and how he ends the firm assuredness with his teeth sinking into the lower jut of the rosy flesh, eliciting divine tingles to rush across your skin in gooseflesh bumps as he pulls away, gaze entirely adoring as he watches your mouth upturn at the corners.
“Just one then,” he grins, and then quickly pecks your smiling lips once more. “Whoops, two. Have an amazing day, baby.”
Note | This is for my amazing @jeonjagiya as it is her birthday today! Go and send the Shibari Queen a million and one birthday wishes! ♡