Author's Note: Fluff, smut and a touch of plot. In that order. More emphasis on the former because fiction (well fanfiction) should feel good.
Seven.
You're the coffee that I need in the morning
You're my sunshine in the rain when it's pouring
Won't you give yourself to me, give it all – oh
The spring rainfall is an apologetic drizzle, a soothing cadence to the gloomy Swiss morning.
He likes the soft pitter-patter, the gentle splash of raindrops on her windows, and the way it frames the smell of freshly brewed coffee, an illusion of warmth on an unseasonably cold morning. It's early, too early for her to be awake, but he's been up since dawn, a force of habit and a touch of lingering jetlag. With each shift of his limbs, he feels echoes of the sweet love they made last night, that second time in the shower, the rough, soft playfighting of the third into the hours of the dark. He leans back into the sofa, the fingers of one hand firmly fastened around the handle of a warm mug of coffee, his other hand balancing the iPad he found on the coffee table against his leg. He scrolls through images and text, snippets of history animated at the tips of his fingers. He wishes he could see snippets of her life like this, highlights and photos, smiles, sadness, triumph and frustration in an endless digital display. Three years.
Terror attacks in Europe. The inauguration of the 45th president of the United States. A presidential impeachment in South Korea. A failed coup in Turkey. Destructive hurricanes sweeping through North America. The World Cup. The #MeToo movement. Deadly mass shootings. China on the rise in the global economy. A humanitarian catastrophe in Yemen and Syria. Brexit. Notre-Dame de Paris going up in flames. Tension over North Korea's nuclear program.
The sound of the bedroom door opening draws his gaze from the overwhelming flood of information to Se-ri, who pads into the living room on bare feet, hair pulled into a messy dark bun, the look on her face radiant. She's in an unassuming white cotton shirt, old and worn, soft. The sleeves have been cut off jaggedly, baring the smooth curves of her shoulders, and a faint black scribble across her chest declares: but first, coffee. It falls to her hips where a pair of flimsy black panties sits low. He grins at her like a fool, world news forgotten.
"Hi." Morning roughens his voice, and she smiles at the sound of it. "You're up early."
She scrunches her nose adorably, looks outside for a second at the rain then towards the kitchen counter and the warm pot of coffee. "I smelled coffee."
He laughs and holds out his mug for her as she walks towards him, taking the proffered coffee with a happy sigh. She lifts the mug to her lips, inhales deeply and downs a healthy sip, eyes closed. This love affair with java is going to be his undoing. She's going to be his undoing.
"Mm, this is good," she sighs, takes another smaller sip now, savoring.
His eyes trail over her neck, the soft wisps of hair too unruly to be contained in her bun and her tanned, shapely legs on full display, so close that he only needs to extend his arm a fraction to graze her thigh with his fingertips. "It's your coffee," he points out, amused and gruff with the sight of her.
She gives him an impish smile, eyes curving into happy crescents as if she can tell that he's thinking about last night and the way she clawed at his back when the force of his body driving into hers was too much. "It tastes better when you make it," she says, a hint of teasing in her voice, and she places the mug on the coffee table before curling herself into his side on the couch like a cat in a giving mood. "It's seven-thirty, I thought you'd be gone." Face turned into his shoulder, she breathes him in, nose nuzzled into the round neckline of his Henley.
He wraps an arm around her, his palm sliding down her bare arm, pulling her closer, as close as humanly possible. "I told the team that I have a breakfast meeting today."
"Smart," she murmurs and peers at the iPad on his lap curiously. "What is that?" She touches the screen and then his thigh where his boxer-briefs end, and it's such an absent touch that he almost believes it's unintentional. Almost.
She looks up at him, her face close, a breath away from his, and he can't think straight when her eyes are stormy with need. The heady smell of her skin is something floral and sweet that he wants to taste. "Just catching up on the last three years of world news," he rasps, done with this conversation, but she tilts her head back, her dreamy gaze darting from his mouth to his eyes in taunting invitation.
"Do you not get this news back home?" She wants to know, her curiosity hard to curb even with desire spilling between them like a heat wave.
"Some selective version of it," he whispers, lowering his head to brush his lips against hers. She closes her eyes at his touch, lifts her hand to his face, fingers spread delicately across his cheekbone, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Not everything."
She's not listening anymore because she's pressing into him, lips warm and moist against his. They kiss, slow and wet, and there's nothing in the quiet room but the slick slide of their mating tongues. Outside, the rain sounds heavier, muggy. He draws his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw, down to the strong, quick pulse thrumming in her neck. Her shirt is soft under his fingertips when he feels her over it, squeezes her breast, feels the hardened tip scrape his palm through the threadbare cotton. His fingers rub against her nipple, and she mewls into his kiss, mouth opening wider to the evocative invasion of his tongue. She strokes a deliberate single-minded hand down the middle of his chest, over his stomach to his erection and stays there, rubbing him, feeling his shape with her deft fingers. The iPad falls off his lap into the cushions, forgotten.
He pulls away with a hiss, one hand curved around the nape of her neck, and he rakes his teeth along her jaw, down her neck. He bites her shoulder, hard enough so she feels a pinch of pain but not hard enough to leave a mark. Her hand on him tightens on a gasp. "Wait, Jeong-hyeok," she breathes.
His name is barely past her lips before she slips out of his arms and sinks to her knees before him. Her fingers toy with the waistband of his boxers, the movement playful, but her gaze when she lifts it to him is stark and wanting. He roils with emotion, knows all of it is surfacing in his eyes, and she slides his boxers down his thighs.
"Se-ri…"
She presses up, hands on his knees for leverage, and her lips cut him off, warm and smiling, coffee-flavored. "What?" she asks, so soft, all beautiful dark eyes and tender mouth.
He forgets all his words, staring at her, at the quiet determination on her face. She takes his silence as acquiescence, moves back down, looks up at him from between his legs, her eyes hooded with her own arousal, the power in her hands.
He doesn't know what to do with his hands. They hover near her head, not touching her because he's afraid he'll be too coarse, too needy, too much. Jeong-hyeok fights to keep his eyes open, but he's unable to suppress his groan when she leans forward, her breath warm and moist against his cock. Her hand closes loosely around the base of his shaft, holding him at an angle to her mouth. She wraps her lips around his engorged head, tongue swirling wickedly over the velvety tip, stealing his breath. Opening her mouth wider, she relaxes her jaw and takes more of him in, sucking in slow wet pulls of her mouth as her hand plays with him.
It takes everything in him not to hang onto her, not to frame that devastating mouth with both hands and bury himself in her throat. To keep from succumbing to the beckoning coil of release, he leans back, focuses his gaze on the rainy mountains in the distance, sucking down choppy breaths that don't help. Nothing helps. Her mouth-
She hums and the vibration almost sends him over the edge.
"Se-ri!" His hand spasms around her upper arm, too hard, he knows; he knows it's too hard, but so is everything else, and he needs to be inside her. "No more," he pleads.
Her mouth comes off him with a sound so profane, it'll play a role in his fantasies for years. He drags her up into his lap, and it's a messy tangle of limbs, her held-up hair in perfect disarray around those swollen red lips, her eyes wandering feverishly over his face. He lunges forward, captures her mouth with his, struggles to slide her panties off, but she helps, and somehow they disappear. She shifts to straddle him, opens her mouth against his and his taste on her tongue is intoxicating.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lifts up, their mouths breaking apart as she aligns their bodies. He slips a hand between them, finds her wet weeping heat, gently strokes her swollen folds. She's so wet that his hips buck into her involuntarily, a small shift that has his tip grazing her entrance. "Are you sore?" He manages to croak out.
She bites her lip, eyes fluttering closed and it's unspeakably erotic. "A little," she concedes.
"Slow," he instructs softly, but every bone in his body wants hard and fast. He removes his hand, and she twists her hips, sinks down, taking him into her body one painstaking inch at a time. When she can't go any further, she wiggles a little, inhales sharply when he slides a bit deeper and it's a miracle if he leaves her suite this morning a sane man. For a few moments, she stops, lets her body adjust to him. He uses the lull as an opportunity to tug her shirt over her head, leaving her completely naked. The hairband comes away easily between his fingers, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in dark, wild tresses. He grips her hip with one hand, the other reverent on her breast, fondling, toying. She starts to move, setting a languid pace for them as she discovers this novel coming together of their bodies, relishing in the control it affords her.
Se-ri opens her eyes, her breath coming in a ragged effort, and she seems to notice his shirt for the first time. "Why are – you still – dressed?" She's all gasps now, desperate to rid him of the offensive clothing.
With a breathless laugh, he reluctantly takes his hands off her to throw off his shirt. She's drawn to his skin like an iron filament to a two-ton magnet, her hands greedy as she traces everything she can touch, his shoulders, his chest, the shifting muscles in his arms as he flicks her nipple with his thumb and digs his fingers into the bone at her hip.
When she lifts her hips this time, she comes down onto him harder. A hoarse groan rips from his throat, and the rhythm of her movements becomes frantic, rough. Jeong-hyeok loosens the hand on her hip, palms her lower back, adjusting her downward angle just enough to hear her throaty moan. His other hand slides down from her breast to rub tight little circles into her clit, and she cries out, loses her rhythm, hands squeezing his shoulders tight and needy. He thrusts up, counters the roll of her hips, and their bodies slam together with such force, she whimpers, a telltale flush climbing up her chest, her neck. The orgasm building inside her licks at his cock, a subtle tightening deep in her core, and the next few thrusts punctuate her unrestrained cries.
"Jeong-hyeok, I'm…"
The words die on her lips as she breaks apart on top of him, pleasure shuddering through her, the contractions of her orgasm pulling his own release from him. He shakes with it, winds his hand into her hair to pull her close, muffle his groan in her mouth. She kisses him back ravenously, a dirty, fierce kiss of tongues slicking over lips, tracing teeth, eating at each other. He grinds up into her, even though his flesh is sensitive and uncomfortable, but her gasp from the aftershocks of her orgasm is worth it. Then he runs his hand down her spine and releases her mouth, collapsing back into the couch, eyes closed.
She follows, cants into him, hands framing his jaw, her hair brushing against his chest and shoulders. She feathers her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Hi," she purrs against his jaw, and he can feel her smile on his skin. "Are you okay?" she asks mischievously, and her hips do a little dance in his lap. He's still inside her, going soft.
"No," he laughs and opens his eyes lazily to find her staring down at him. The adoration in her gaze is unmistakable. His heart feels so full it might burst. He draws his hands to the curves of her shoulders, caressing the sun-kissed skin idly. "I think you broke me."
"Oh, I think you might still work," she counters and rakes her fingers through his hair.
He flips them over so suddenly that she sucks in a quick startled breath, her back pressed flat into the wide cushions as he slides out of her, flaccid, slick with their fluids. "What am I going to do with you?" The kiss he presses to her lips is unhurried, savoring, a give-and-take of breath.
"Whatever you want," she says softly.
He growls, bites her bottom lip then licks it soothingly. "You can't say things like that if you want to leave this room today."
Her laughter is infectious, sweet in his mouth as he kisses her again, pulling her up with him into a sitting position. She steadies herself with her hands on his chest, shifting uncomfortably on the seat cushions.
"Did it hurt?" he probes worriedly.
She shakes her head more at him than at his question, like she doesn't know what to do with him. "It was worth it," she tells him.
He frowns. "That doesn't answer my question."
Inside her bedroom, the alarm clock shrills loudly, interrupting his protest. She ignores it, leans towards him, kisses his cheek then his lips, soft – like a habit – before coming to her feet in all her naked glory. "It's the only answer that matters." The rain has stopped, and a cheerful ray of belated sunlight streaks across her butt-cheek as she leans down to pick up her discarded clothes. "Duty calls," she huffs to the incessant, escalating beeps coming from inside.
He stops himself from touching her again as she walks around the sofa, towards her bedroom. She's stunning and so damn stubborn, a lethal combination. "What time is it?"
"Quarter past eight. We have to be there by nine." Her voice is coming from the bedroom now, and the clock has been silenced. He gets up and follows her. "I need a quick shower."
"Do you need a hand?" he offers cheekily.
She turns around with a tickled smile to find him leaning against the doorjamb. She takes him in from head to toe in one sultry glance that makes his heart beat faster. "Not if you want to leave this room today."
It's exciting, coming with him to his hotel so he can pick up extra clothes. I can't keep doing the walk of shame every morning, Se-ri.
Their little game is exciting, if a little daring. Or maybe it's exciting because of that element of risk. They're undercover, kind of. Nobody knows about them. Nobody should know, so they hide it all day in the academy, stealing glances and moments like bread crumbs for a starving child. Now – against his better judgment because she insisted – he sneaks her into Hotel Interlaken through the side door, from a cold alleyway. His team and three other teams from the program are staying at this hotel, but they make it to the elevator lobby without incident. They've planned their excuse if they're caught, but it's skimpy at best.
He's silent, tense as they wait for the elevator. When it arrives, it's thankfully empty, and they're alone on the slow ride to the third floor.
"Relax," she advises coolly, demonstrating with an easy smile.
He looks at her and his eyes are a pair of flames, hot and burning. Without warning, he pushes her up against the elevator wall, his mouth on hers bruising. "The message you sent me today was evil," he grunts.
"What message?" she asks innocently. She knows exactly what he's talking about. I need you again. She'd sent it to him during a break in plenary while deep in conversation with Niels about the mock recitals tomorrow, and she'd watched Ri Jeong-hyeok out of the corners of her eyes, leave his chair and pace restlessly, like a man possessed.
He gives her a pointed look but doesn't get to answer because the elevator doors open on the third floor, and he's back in bodyguard mode. He steps outside, looks both ways and grabs her hand, taking her with him, down the hallway. He stops at the second door and swipes the card. The door clicks, and he pushes it open, turns towards her to usher her in. After another cursory glance down the corridor, she pushes into him with a breathless laugh, her lips crashing against his as they stumble into the room, the door quietly shutting behind them.
"I do need you again," she whispers as he groans into her mouth, walking backwards into the room with her in his arms.
The sharp, too-close sound of a gulp and an urgent shuffle arrests them both.
Before she knows what's happening, he releases her and steps in front of her like a human shield. Se-ri grounds herself with a hand on the back of his arm, finding her own footing as she turns towards the large bed, where a young woman – the violinist – is in jaunty purple lingerie, scrambling to cover herself with a hotel robe. Se-ri gasps, presses her fingers to her lips to contain the sound. This cannot be happening.
Beside her, Jeong-hyeok holds a hand over his eyes, and swears under his breath. "Aish! Park Min-ji, what the hell? Please get dressed," he clips out.
Of the three of them, she's not sure who's more embarrassed, but the woman on the bed is turning a shade of red she hasn't seen on a human before. She's torn between sympathy for Min-ji's predicament and fury over what is obviously an attempted, albeit misguided seduction.
Jeong-hyeok takes her elbow and leads her towards the door, out of sight. "I'll meet you at your place," he says quietly, his jaw clenched in barely contained anger. "You need to leave now. I'll be right behind you."
"No, I'm not leaving without you." Despite the context, the thought of leaving him here with an almost naked woman in his bed makes her irrationally nauseous.
"Se-ri-ya, please, listen to me. I need to sort this out." And it's not just anger on his face, it's worry, a flash of fear that hits her right in the gut.
She cups his cheek, rubs her thumb against his cheekbone, searching his gaze anxiously. He covers her hand with his, brings it to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to her palm. "Okay," she yields. "Don't be late."
"I won't," he promises with a small grateful smile. He reaches past her and holds the door open for her, watching her walk out into the hallway. She hears the door click shut when she steps into the elevator.
The taxi ride back to her hotel is a blur. She replays the scene over and over in her mind, and it's torturous, disquieting in a way she doesn't understand. Her mind rationalizes that Ri Jeong-hyeok had no idea, that it's unsolicited, practically harassment. Still, she can't help but wonder how this scenario would have played out had this been before they found each other again. Would he be tempted? Is this the first time he's been propositioned like this in the past three years? She stews over it, perched on the couch where they made love this morning. It feels like lightyears away now, the taste of his coffee, the warm glow of his insatiable touch, the gentle cacophony of the rain.
When he arrives, her watch says it's only thirty minutes later, but it feels like she's been waiting for an eternity.
She rises to her feet immediately, gravitates towards him. "What happened?" she asks.
He allows the door to close and drops his duffel bag by the coat hanger. He meets her halfway to the kitchen counter, hands gently taking hold of hers, disentangling her tensely curled fingers. His eyes find hers, and he looks very tired. "She apologized. She cried. Then she got angry," he surmises. "You were right about her. I should have…"
"I don't think you could have done anything differently," she interjects. Ri Jeong-hyeok is an expert at beating himself up, taking the blame for others' shortcomings, and she won't let him take this one.
He shakes his head with remorse. "When you mentioned it, I thought at worst it's a stupid, childish crush."
"It's a bit more than a crush at this point," she mutters, tries hard to keep the snark out of her voice. "How did she get in?"
"She got a key copy made at the reception, told them I asked her to pick up something for me. They hadn't seen me spend a night there in days, so I guess they assumed it was true."
"Crafty," she muses. "Wait, what do you mean she got angry?"
His gaze meets hers head-on, and she sees a glimpse of unrest, a flashback to their turbulent time together three years ago. "She's threatening to report us."
A/N: Yes, we went there. Reviews are love x