A Touch Of Love, 5.
Genre | Romance / Valentine’s Day drabbles.
Pairing | Kim Seokjin / Reader.
Prompt | “You don’t need to leave so soon.”
Words | 915 words.
The alarm only tickles at Seokjin’s subconscious, a persistent, soft chiming that is silenced within eleven seconds and followed up by just as gentle of a groan at his ear, still dense with sleep. It is nearly not enough to rouse him completely, though the careful movements beside his mostly comatose body stir him to the point of unhanding the fidgeter from her binds, his arms mindlessly leaving the delicious heat of her bare skin to instead tuck under his pillow with a disturbed exhalation. The weight of her limbs leave the bed, not without a hand sweeping delicately over his forehead, dusting his hair back, and Seokjin almost immediately is lulled back into the interrupted dream.
A thunder clap jolts him into a half asleep state a handful of minutes later, the sharp sound echoing through the bathroom amongst a cacophony of muffled swearing. The shampoo bottle clattering against the shower tiles, most likely. Behind the plaster of the wall, pipes shudder and moan as the consistent stream of water hitting glass is ceased, the rubber seal that lines the border of the shower door squeaking as it is opened. Here, now, he lays with his eyes barely peeking open, vision feathered with the tangle of his drowsy lashes and yet he can refine her figure so clearly in the yellow lighting of the bathroom, straggles of water slipping down her spine, curving over the plump flesh of her ass. It is a sight that nearly urges him to sit up, wake the hell up and tease his fingertips between those lovely, lovely thighs while she continues to dry her hair with the damp towel. But lethargy wins the round, laying heavy on his bones and he caves once more to slumber, his mind no longer returning to the already misplaced dream.
Seokjin is only completely roused to a place just beneath fully awake when her knees dip into the mattress, palms propping herself up on either side of his head. Languidly, he blinks sleep out of his eyes and rolls onto his back, blearily looking up at the embodiment of his love as she smiles down tenderly, make-up done up real pretty, hair fastened in a stylish bun at the crown of her head. After rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Seokjin takes in the pencil skirt that hugs her hips in a wretched tease, paired with transparent black stockings that make her thighs look like sin and the four undone buttons of her pearl silk blouse, exposing an arrowhead of collarbones and smooth flesh, descending to a hint of her lace bra. Really, he cannot help the twitch that occurs within his loose pyjama pants.
“You don’t need to leave so soon, y’know,” are the first words that Seokjin speaks, rough with hours of sleep, a guttural hum that has a shiver tingling up her spine in time with his fingertips ghosting the inner of her thigh.
“Hey, stop that,” she swats his hand away, lacing her fingers in a lock around his wrist and leaning in a little closer, grin widening. “My last meeting is at four, so I should be home by five-thirty, okay?”
“That’s terribly far away,” Seokjin grumbles, slithering his arm out of her grip and instead hooking a finger into the open collar of her blouse, pulling the smooth material down to reveal more of the sapid sight. Jesus, it is not just a bra, but a full bustier of a nude shade, the edges and straps embellished with black lace. His lips part slightly, a frown etching into his brow. “You’re not trying for a promotion at work, are you?”
“Rude,” she chides, slapping at his hand once again and leaning back onto her heels, not without a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth, a delicate press so as not to smear her lipstick. With precarious fingers, she opens the blouse an increment wider, allowing the sunlight filtering through the window to grace the gorgeous swell of her breasts in a golden hue and Seokjin has to fight the urge to leap on her and fit himself between her legs when she smirks down at him, buttoning the shirt up to the final notch that lays against the hollow of her throat. “This was supposed to be for you once I get back, but that comment might’ve just changed my mind. I’ll see you in a few hours, ‘kay!”
And like that, she swiftly manoeuvres herself off the bed and departs the bedroom without so much as a backward glance, gathering up the briefcase waiting beside their shared dresser on the way. All the while, Seokjin stares on agape, sheer disappointment juxtaposing the rock hard arousal that strains against his underwear.
“Sweetheart.” Seokjin calls out, a note of desperation underlying his tone, though he would never admit it. He can hear the front door unlocking. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry!”
“Better earn that forgiveness!” She cheerfully shouts back, the conversation silenced by the door swinging back into the wooden frame in a firm, punctuating slam that has his nerves jumping.
With an exasperated sigh, he begins sifting through the archives of his memory, trying to remember the damn name of that damn florist who stocks her damn favourite flowers. Because damn, damn, damn if that bustier is not on the floor by the evening and she is not perched all exquisite and bare on his lap, then he might just die.