Author's Note: Hi my lovely small community of FF readers. I'm sorry this chapter took so long. It's kind of pivotal, and I wrote and rewrote it a bunch of times until it felt okay enough to post. Stressing on "okay". So here it is... well one quick thing before you read on. My interpretation of Se-ri being a virgin is a little different here than other stories in the fandom. I went with it because (1) I did a little reading about the culture and found out that pre-marital sex is kind of a big deal or at least it was in YS's generation (2) in her scenes with the "men from Seoul" she does come off as a bit of a prude (3) she was supposedly ENGAGED to Gu Seung-jun and it looked like they hadn't ever kissed much less been intimate and (4) Jeong-hyeok always initiated physical contact and she seemed a little bit shy, not at all the forthcoming image they speak of. So actions vs words led me to this universe where RJH is the more experienced one of the two... ANYWAY, onto the chapter. Thank you for sticking with me and my whimsical muse. This turned out a little long and so did this note. Much love.
Six.
I'll let you set the pace 'cause I'm not thinking straight
My head's spinning around, I can't see clear no more
What are you waiting for?
Love me like you do
Ri Jeong-hyeok takes immense pleasure in his life's work. He loses himself for days in the intricacies of a composition, spends hours perfecting the tempo of a sonata to the counts of a heartbeat, finds inspiration in tireless months of fostering young talent. There's few things in life he loves more than music. But today, the morning sessions with his three budding musicians are grating, and he knows he's being impatient, unconstructive in his disapproval of their performances. The more he gives them feedback, the worse they seem to be playing. No one says a word to him, and the youngest boy, the pianist, is sporting a look so terrified it's almost humorous.
Coincidentally, it's not their playing that's particularly bad, it's his distraction. She's sitting cross-legged in his mind, a constant presence, an ache to be somewhere else, around her, with her. It's only been three days since she literally crash landed back into his life, and he's already a mess, hooked on her like an addict chasing his next fix. After a long intimate dinner last night, they'd gone back to her hotel room and crawled into bed together. Please stay. He'd had no intention of leaving, so he wrapped her in his arms, drawing the covers around them. The wine made her drowsy, and she fell asleep in minutes, head sweetly nestled into the crook of his neck, arm snug around his chest, one leg thrown over both of his as if she meant to keep him there for good. He didn't sleep much, too aware of her, of what was brewing between them, of how quickly the days pass when she's around and how slowly the years drag when she's away. He left before she woke up in the morning.
Now, she's floating around the school in her pencil skirt and sleeveless silky blouse, flitting from one room to the next like a butterfly in a field of flowers, Niels Hoffman eagerly following at her heels. All he can think about as Kim Hyun-woo misses a beat on Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata is catching another glimpse of her. He lifts his hand, and the boy stops immediately, downcast gaze fixated on the piano keys in silent apology.
"That's enough for now," he says with a sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ri. I'll try to do better." It's said with such solemn promise that Jeong-hyeok feels lousy.
"It's okay. Let's practice it again together later." He pats the young boy's shoulder encouragingly and fishes his Swiss burner phone out of his jacket pocket. He'd bought the cheap burner phone yesterday because even here he has to be cautious to keep her and his family safe. He left a note on her dresser this morning with his number scribbled on it.
He swipes the screen and feels himself brighten when he finds a text notification.
YS: You have a phone! 😱
A smile curves his lips. He hits the reply button and starts typing.
RJH: I do. It's new. You're my only contact. Where are you?
One of the junior instructors comes up to him, pointing at his watch. "Mr. Ri, we should head to plenary. The class on 'The Physics of Sound and Music' starts in five minutes."
"Ah, I forgot about that. Let's go." He rises to his feet and ushers the group out of their dedicated break-out room and into the hallway. They shuffle out in unison, leading the way to the auditorium. The phone vibrates in his hand.
YS: I'm in the auditorium for plenary. Where are you? I don't see you.
He finds her standing by the front row near the stage, searching the crowd, phone in hand. She stills when their eyes meet, her smile breathtaking, and the world falls away, his miserable morning forgotten. He grins back, maybe too wide that he does a poor job of hiding what she means to him, but he allows himself that luxury for just a few seconds. He takes her in from this vantage point: her black pencil skirt is lined with a muted strip of buttons down the side, and her blouse is dreamy, its thready sleeves barely visible from the other side of the large room. The loose silk billows around her in a tuft of ecru, tucked in at the waist, accentuating the curve of her hips. Niels, the ever-so-dutiful program director, grabs her arm, pulls her into what's clearly an introduction to an important-looking silver-haired man in an immaculate suit.
RJH: You look really nice. First that dress and now this… Where do you get these clothes from?
She plays her role impeccably, cordial and engaged in her new acquaintance – noblesse oblige, personified – but when her phone buzzes, she glances down and her private smile is telling, the slight shake to her head hard to miss.
YS: I run a fashion company. Where do you think? ️
His surprised chuckle earns him a curious glance from a couple of his group members. Someone asks him to have a seat as the professor takes the stage and taps against the microphone, effectively quieting the room. Se-ri sits down next to Niels, and he settles down at the very end of his row, nodding politely at Park Min-ji when she takes the seat next to his. The monster thinks your violinist has a crush on you. The violinist in question fidgets in the chair beside him.
RJH: You're funny.
Se-ri looks at him over her left shoulder, her gaze lingering on his seatmate for a second longer than necessary, but her eyes still twinkle at him teasingly.
YS: So I've been told.
RJH: How's your day going? You seem busy.
Park Min-ji peers at him, gaze darting between his face and his phone, but she doesn't voice the question in her eyes.
YS: The first couple of days are always busy. I like knowing you're around, that I get to see you at the end of the day. I missed you this morning. How's your day?
RJH: I'm sorry I had to leave so early. Our team meets for breakfast at seven every morning, and I don't want anyone to get suspicious that I'm not staying at the hotel. I hate leaving you.
A skinny elbow pokes his arm, and he turns to find Min-ji leaning close to him. "Did you hear that Mr. Ri? Isn't it amazing that only one percent of the effort we put into playing the instrument translates into sound?" she whispers.
He nods distractedly and offers a faint smile. "Yes, the human ear is incredibly delicate."
YS: I think I was right last night, about the violinist with the crush. Did she just whisper to you in the middle of class? What is this high school?
He looks towards the front-row, expects to find her watching him, but Niels has his hand on her bare forearm and his lips inches from her ear, speaking in hushed tones. She says something back, but the other man is slow to remove his fingers.
RJH: I think if Niels Hoffman puts his hand on your arm again, I'm going to have to break it.
Five rows away, Se-ri lets out a stifled burst of laughter, has to cover her mouth to contain it, eliciting odd looks from her neighbors, including Niels. Despite being genuinely annoyed with the blond man from Frankfurt, Ri Jeong-hyeok finds himself smiling at her text message.
YS: You're crazy.
RJH: About you.
The mouthwatering aroma of a settled blend of soy sauce, sesame, gochuchang, ginger, and garlic greets her as she pushes the door to her suite open to reveal a studious Ri Jeong-hyeok behind the kitchen counter, fiddling with the stove. Her heart does something funny in her chest. It feels like a backflip, and she tries hard not to think about the transiency of their time together, how this – as normal as it feels now – is so extraordinary that she'll have to catalogue the memories like priceless treasures.
When the door clicks shut, he looks up and greets her with a warm smile, close-lipped, dimpled – her favorite. She makes a mental polaroid and keeps moving, so it doesn't overwhelm her.
"Right in time for dinner," he says, lifts the lid on one of the pots and sets it aside.
"Whatever it is, it smells amazing," she sighs dreamily. Rid of her coat, shoes and bag, she makes her way towards him, her steps measured, not too fast, because Se-ri wants to remember everything about this. The balcony doors are wide open, inviting an early evening mountain breeze that rustles the drawn sheer white curtains, a modicum of privacy from Mother Nature's prying eyes. Two placemats with dinnerware are neatly laid out on the kitchen counter with three of her favorite banchan sitting in small bowls between the plates. The lights are low, and her bedroom door is closed. And then that man. Jeong-hyeok watches her with a fiery look in his eyes, patient as if he knows just what she's doing, and she loves that he's shed the day's formality in favor of a long-sleeved white Henley and gray sweatpants because this is home, for however short a time. His slicked back dark hair looks wet from a recent shower. She reaches his side and peers around him at the simmering pots.
"Come here," he murmurs, angling his body to pull her close. She doesn't realize how desperately she needs this until his arms are around her and he's kissing her softly on the mouth, lips featherlight against hers. He lets her go too quickly, pressing a parting kiss to her forehead. "Sit, let's eat." He steers her obedient body to one of the two kitchen stools, but she resists, tries to contribute.
"Can I help?"
"There's nothing to do," he promises. "I'm just going to lay out the food. Sit," he insists.
She does as he asks because she secretly adores this controlling side to usually mellow Ri Jeong-hyeok. She adores all his sides, but this one makes her feel especially small and protected. "It smells like…" She trails off, trying to find the dish or the word. She wants to say home, but she knows it'll make him sad.
"Beef bulgogi and rice," he offers with a lop-sided grin and one dimple, more delicious than any meal he could concoct. A serving plate with thin strips of tender beef, cooked to perfection and garnished with sesame seeds and scallions, is placed on the countertop. "I cheated and got the banchan dishes from one of the Korean restaurants in town," he confesses, sliding one bowl of rice onto each placemat.
"Everything looks wonderful. Thank you. You didn't have to." Their eyes meet and hold, and he's so steady, so warm that she feels her breath hitch.
"I wanted to," he says sincerely and finally walks around the counter, holding two glasses of red wine. From behind, he reaches past her to place the glass just above the knife, a study in etiquette. It's silly, but she wishes she could commend his mother for raising a man with such impeccable manners. "I'm watching your alcohol intake tonight," he jokes, his voice a fleeting breath of air against her hair. "Just this one." He slips into the high chair next to her.
She laughs. "I promise not to fall asleep on you again."
His humor softens into a coy smile, a flash of wanting that gently ignites a fire low in her belly. "I don't mind." It's a stilted statement, and she imagines the unspoken part of that sentence. I don't mind if it happens a little later. But Ri Jeong-hyeok leaves it there, starts dishing food into her plate and asks her about her day.
The food is sumptuous, and she eats just enough to satiate her hunger, too engrossed in telling him about the different teams, the one Kiwi boy who plays the flute so hauntingly that she kept returning to listen to him practice, and the new potential sponsor she was introduced to at the auditorium, who is interested in growing the program. He listens intently, laughs at some of her stories and shares tidbits from his day that make her smile.
"You're not eating anymore," he observes and makes a move to replenish her plate.
She covers his hand with hers. "I'm done. Thank you, Jeong-hyeok-ssi. It was a delicious meal."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Se-ri gets up, picks up her empty plate, but this time his hand on hers stops her. "I'll help clear the dishes."
"Let me do it. You've had a long day. I got this." His persistent gaze is convincing, and she finds herself handing over the plate without protest.
"Alright, I'll just go wash up inside."
She leaves him in the kitchen, clearing the countertop, and enters her bedroom en-route to the bathroom. The bedroom is dark save for a scented candle burning on the vanity table. It smells like Seoul and nostalgia. She doesn't need to step closer to know that it's her candle – Odnoliub. She wonders how and where Jeong-hyeok found out about it. Sometimes she wishes she could surprise him half as well as he surprises her. She shakes her head with a small smile and makes her way into the bathroom.
When she's done freshening up, she returns to the living room. Jeong-hyeok is rinsing what seems to be the last soiled plate, and only their half-full wineglasses are left on the countertop. She reclaims her high chair as he sets the plate on the rack and dries his hands on a dishtowel. The silence is comfortable until he looks at her, and his heavy stare speaks volumes about how he feels after a whole day of interrupted glances and stolen moments.
She swallows tightly under his scrutiny and clears her throat before she speaks. "You found my candle." Her voice is low and husky.
That seems to set him in motion. He makes a sound that vibrates in his throat that she interprets as a yes, but she doesn't get to analyze it for long because he's walking around the counter towards her, behind her, out of sight. She almost turns to find him when she feels his hands cover her bare shoulders, large, warm from the hot water.
"Odnoliub," he says it oddly, stretching the syllables on his tongue. He starts to knead her shoulders, gentle but thorough, and she bites her lip to stop the moan rising in her throat.
"My marketing team hated the name. It's too difficult to pronounce, they said. It won't catch," she muses, drugged by the sensation of his strong, capable hands soothing her tense muscles.
He hums, and she doesn't know what it means. "Did it? Catch?" he prods.
"It did," she smiles, even though he can't see it because she's incredibly proud of that particular product. "The brand had a good story about a boy who travels the world and holds candles for the girl he loves, so she can always find him wherever they are, even if it's dark. People love a good story." It's her love letter to him, but she doesn't say that because surely he knows.
"This boy will always hold candles for you," he says quietly, his lips almost brushing against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He presses both thumbs to her neck, at her hairline, smoothing them down to the curves of her shoulders with a firm press. Her flesh gives under his touch, tension melting like ice cream on a hot summer sidewalk as his fingers curve to the front of her shoulders. She cranes her neck to the right to give him better access and feels his mouth touch the side of her throat, soft and moist. "Se-ri-ya, you smell so good." His words are all air and heat against her skin, and then it's gone. He straightens, and the deliberate, provocative massage continues. His hands glide down from the front of her shoulders in sweeping touches that go lower and lower until his fingers brush against the neckline of her silky blouse. He stops pretending and stays there for a few seconds, until the flimsy, loose neckline flutters and his hands slide down to the tops of her breasts. All rational thought flees her mind. She forgets what they were talking about, what she wanted to say. The only things that exist are his voice and the next stroke of his massage at the swell of her breasts. The tips of his index fingers graze her nipples through the lace of her bra, and she moans, leaning her body back into his. "You're driving me crazy with your clothes and your lingerie," he growls, the sound biting, and his hands have abandoned her shoulders in favor of kneading her chest, fingers toying with her nipples over the thin nude lace.
She feels the touch in her core, an aching need, and it takes all of her strength to shift forward, out of his grasp and slide out of the chair on wobbly legs, turning to face him. She's barely had any wine tonight, but she knows her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed with arousal. He stares at her, confused, not quite sure what to expect, and it's strangely satisfying to see that his little massage has had just as much of an effect on him as it did on her. His gray sweatpants do little to conceal the outline of his erection. She licks her lips, and he closes his eyes, almost winces from the superhuman levels of self-control that keep him from touching her.
"Jeong-hyeok-ssi," she starts and takes one step towards him. "No more teasing. No more waiting." His eyes fly open, and they search her face for any sign of hesitation. He seems to find none because he lowers his chin a fraction, and she likes to think it's a nod. Her second step leaves them standing unbearably close but not touching. She curls her fingers in the hem of his shirt. "Off," she breathes. His eyes are hot on hers as he pulls the shirt over his head and drops it on the chair. She swallows and brushes the waistband of his sweatpants with her knuckles. "This, too."
He cocks his head to the side, his expression hard to describe, and for a few seconds he doesn't do anything. Then he takes off his pants, laying the soft gray heap on top of his discarded shirt. His boxer briefs are all black, the stretchy fabric straining to contain him. She wants them off badly, but the look he gives her is dangerous. Before she can speak, he grabs her hips and pulls her against him. "Later," he promises, voice husky and raw right before he dips his head to kiss her over and over between her jaw and her collarbone.
She shifts away, palms pressed against his chest, evading his seeking lips. "Now," she whispers, an edge of a plea to her soft-spoken demand.
He rests his forehead on hers, his breath hot against her lips, her chin, her nose. "Se-ri…"
"Please."
He can't say no. Wordlessly, he strips off the boxers, kicks them to the side, and she can't tear her eyes away. He's magnificent, proudly erect, just as thick, just as large as she'd imagined when he was pressed against her in bed last night. She wants to touch him, taste him, take him into her body. This time his mouth on hers takes her by surprise, and it's demanding, more a conquest than a question. His arms engulf her, and she stops thinking altogether as the kiss turns wet and deep, soul-searching. He makes quick work of her clothes, unzipping and pushing down her skirt unceremoniously then ending the kiss to pull her blouse over her head. When she's down to her lingerie, his movements turn languid in sharp contrast to the hungry gaze roving over her body. He draws his mouth down to kiss her cheeks, her nose, the sliver of skin just above her upper lip, everywhere but her mouth. And his hands are everywhere, up and down her back, her hips, her shoulders, her arms, even her hands, mapping her out. Desire spills into her limbs, a heavy awareness. "Let's go inside," he husks.
She's panting. Panting. "Hmm," is all she manages to get out.
Those big palms slide down from her waist and around to cup her bottom, gripping and molding as his breath hits her ear, tongue darting out to flick her earlobe. Without a word of warning, he suddenly boosts her up, and she wraps her legs around his waist, arms twining around his neck. Face-to-face, her mouth hovers a breath away from his. His eyes lock on hers, but he doesn't kiss her as he walks them into the bedroom and kicks the door shut with his heel.
They're enveloped in darkness, the flickering candlelight painting him in a soft dreamy glow, and everything smells like Seoul. Jeong-hyeok lowers her to the bed beneath him, careful like she's something precious and delicate. Some of his weight presses her down into the mattress, and she pulls him closer until his hooded eyes are black with arousal, almost unrecognizable. Mouth tilted, it opens over hers. Their tongues clash and stroke. She's faint and dizzy as he kisses her, his mouth slanting from one side to the other as they eat at each other, like it's the end of the world and there is nowhere else either one of them would rather be.
As he kisses her and kisses her—his naked body warm and pressed flush to her breasts, belly, and thighs—all she wants is to be wrapped around him again. She's so busy sliding her tongue against his that it takes her a while to notice him fumbling with the back of her bra in search of a snap. Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, she brings her hands to the front of the bra and releases the hidden clasp. It falls off her body. He sucks in a ragged breath as he tears his mouth away and combs his fingers down her breasts, stopping briefly to pinch her hardened nipples before his mouth finds her neck. The kisses he flutters on her skin mark his way down her body from her collarbone to the swell of her breast to the brief tantalizing suck he gives one nipple only for a second. He swipes the scar from the bullet she took for him with his thumb and then his lips.
In the dark, every single one of her senses is heightened, electrified. His fingers tuck into the scraps of lace at her hips and tug the thong down, over her stockings and then into the ether. He comes back to the delicate trimmings of her nude stockings, traces them breathlessly around the tops of her thighs. "What are these?" he asks reverently. She doesn't think he wants an answer because he presses his lips to her thigh where skin and lace meet, pushes her legs wider and then licks the cleft at her seam. She gasps, loud, too loud. Gripping the backs of her thighs, he holds her still and buries his face between her legs, harrowing her a thousand different ways with his tongue, his lips, his breath.
She makes an inhuman wounded sound when he stops, his dark eyes lifting, locking with hers as his tongue slips out and runs right over her clit. She says one or two syllables of his name on a broken sob and curls her fingers in the sheets. He does it again, one lavish stroke of his tongue that's there and then gone, keeping her suspended on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall.
"Jeong-hyeok, please," she whimpers, reaches down and grabs fistfuls of his silken hair and forces his head up. "I want you, inside me."
He groans and slides up her body in one smooth motion. With his hands, he pulls her legs open and settles his hips between them, his erection firm against her opening. But he holds back, searches her eyes, her dazed expression. "Are you sure, Se-ri?"
"I've never wanted anything more."
He reaches between them, holds the base of his cock and rubs the head between her folds, teasing her and himself. She squeezes his shoulders at the intensity of her need, the heat in his gaze. It feels good, so good. "Se-ri-ya…"
"I'm sure. I love you," she whispers just as he lifts his hand back up to cover her breast and tilts his hips a fraction, the tip of his shaft penetrating her.
"Tell me if it hurts." His voice is strained and the veins in his neck bulge out as he presses further into her, stretching her deliciously. The pain she expects isn't there, and she shifts under him, opening her legs wider. Jeong-hyeok swallows hard and freezes. "Don't move," he pleads, still suspended over her, unmoving. Then he pushes a little more into her tightness before the pain hits, sharp and sudden. Se-ri tenses and so does he. She lifts her head and presses a kiss to his slack, swollen lips.
"Please," she hisses. "All of you."
Whatever control he seems to have left snaps. He pulls back and then his hips move forward with one hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her. Hot pain slices through her and she cries out, nails digging into his arms forcefully while the tremors throb through her body. When the haze of it clears, she hears his fast, harsh breathing. He's holding himself very still inside her, and she doesn't know what that feels like, but it's consuming every ounce of his restraint. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"I'm okay," she whispers reassuringly as the pain recedes, leaving behind the feeling of being uncomfortably stretched and full.
His hips move back and it feels strange, like he's leaving her, and her body is mourning, clutching, but then he thrusts forward, slowly filling her up again. There is no pain this time.
"Are you okay?" he rasps, eyes bright with concern and something that looks suspiciously like guilt.
She clasps his cheeks in both hands, sweeps her thumbs across his cheekbones tenderly. "Yes," she promises. "It feels good."
He moves his hips back again and then plunges forward, a little harder this time, and she moans breathily, feels the now familiar flame reawakening in her womb. The rhythmic roll of his hips into hers is slow and maddening, and she keeps moving her hips, adjusting the angle just so until his pubic bone starts grinding down on her perfectly. "Oh God, yes," she breathes, and that seems to make him wild, frantic. He moves inside her faster, breathing hard, building her up and up until she forgets how to breathe. And then with his next thrust, he unravels her. With a cry, she tosses her head back, arches off the bed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as pleasure sears her body, her orgasm coming from somewhere deep and foreign. He stops moving as her insides quiver around him, squeezing, hot and wet. When she catches her breath again, he crushes his lips to hers with a feral growl, fingers tangling in her hair as he pushes into her hard, once, twice. Jeong-hyeok shoves that thick girth in deep and he groans, long and low, coming inside her, pulsing, his length twitching and jerking, spent.
Slowly, his weight goes slack on top of her, his breathing rough and uneven as she holds him close, lips tasting the perspiration on his shoulder blade. After a minute or ten because time becomes irrelevant, he rolls to the side, his arm snagging her around the waist to bring her with him.
He turns his face into hers, his small smile soft and bewildered. "Se-ri-ya," he murmurs and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm so in love with you. You undo me. If I had to dream up the perfect woman…" His finger traces down the curve of her cheek to her chin. "She wouldn't even come close to you. How could anyone?" he wonders and nuzzles her nose with his. "How did I get so lucky?" It's the last thing he says before he kisses her, and that slow burn starts all over again.
A/N: Hi, thanks for reading through my rambling and then my long-winded chapter. When she tells him to take off his pants, and he tilts his head to the side, you know that video from behind the scenes when they're rehearsing the kiss in the hospital bed and HB does that adorable head-tilt? Yeah, that's the one. Reviews are love x