Work Text:
Descent
For Demi - dami ko nakain curly tops + mangga't bagoong para masulat to LOL, salamat sa pa lechon kawala ni Madam Rosell <3
Para sa mga Sanggre ng Sigriswil PH
WARNINGS: Explicit content. Really, explicit, mature content. SPG. Contains sexual events. Contains out of character situations, as we have not actually seen RJH and YSR in a sexual situation. I cannot stress how explicit this is, okay? If you can't fathom them in that situation, or if you think that it is too much, please just scroll up and do not read. Thank you.
Stand alone. May actually be a PWP.
First beta done - thanks Nina! Her feedback was a little bit more to work on the general feels of the fic so I'll be working on that a bit later, after the other betas have given their verdict. Two more upcoming, so this will still be edited. =))
One
A Koda to Episode 6
He wants to stop, really, he does.
There is an endless list on how this could go wrong, on how this would further complicate their situation, and that's not even including the fact that he has a fiancee, and that he's agreed to marry her the soonest possible time.
It's a big mess, as he said earlier. And if she's really who she says she is, and if he -- (who was he fucking kidding, he already is in love with her, he's been so in love with her for so long he doesn't remember how his heart beat without her name as an echo that resonated in the deepest part of his soul) --
Well. The point is, while his family is not exactly the biggest and most powerful name in North Korea, they are also not the lowest. Not even remotely. He pauses to reconsider, and rethinks that thought. They are maybe the lowest if the count is shortlisted to five.
The cargo in his arms shifted, and he felt the soft press of her breasts against his side, and all coherent thought flew out of his mind.
This is bordering public indecency, he thinks, thankful that they're alone in the elevator, and that no one (else) could see him gather her closer to him, so much so that one could tell them apart only by their clothes, and her arms, wrapped loosely around his waist, her fingers dipping dangerously close to his crotch whenever her finger slips from their purchase on his belt loops.
He's holding onto her wrist to stay her wayward adventure, and he was never one to lie to himself, so he will not say that he's holding the thin of her wrists so she may stop.
He's holding on for his sanity.
When the tell-tale beep of the elevator informs him that they've arrived on their floor, he takes a deep breath and takes a step toward their rooms.
---
It's a big mess, are the words that keep bouncing around in his head, even as he heads straight for her room, and her bed. He doesn't want to touch her, to even remove her boots, or the coat she's wearing. He feels on fire, with just the thought taking off one article of her clothing, and he finds it unfair that she can toss around how she likes him and it's being a problem because she might not want to go back because of him, while here he is scrambling to take a hold of himself, to just look, take his feel, but never, never touch.
Christ, he loves the feel of her skin against his own, loves how his hands look, rough and large and browned, against her own -- creamy and smooth and supple, unmarred and unmarked.
So he turns around, heads to the small kitchen, intent on getting her a glass of water, idly thinking which pocket he put the bottle of aspirin in. When he turns around, he nearly breaks the glass in his hand, the sight that greeted him was both heaven and hell.
Yoon Seri was already halfway to unbuttoning the sheer white blouse she wore under the plaid coat that Ri Jeong Hyeok was sure if any other woman wore would only look plain. The latter was already lying lifeless on the bed behind the inebriated woman, and it seems like the boots and her legs are having a war that the former is winning.
But what really took his breath away is the expanse of skin exposed, the long, elegant neck, the sloping curve of her shoulders, the black strap that stood in stark contrast to the white of her flesh, the tantalizing view of her chest, and his hands formed a fist -- in self control, or, more likely in his want to cup their fullness in his hands, to mold them to his liking, to see her flesh yield to his ministrations, to watch as the dusky rose of her nipples rise as he blows them to attention, and he would lick them to her content, and then take the yielding flesh into his mouth --
He stays rooted on the spot, the images in his head halted as reality proves to be better than anything he has ever imagined.
Yoon Seri has managed to divest herself of her clothing, the only remaining articles on her person were the ones that he bought for her on the market, and he has this moment of visceral arousal because of how well he's guessed her size. (Let's not put into consideration that he's bought every size there was.) (Never mind that he knows he's hard, feels the push of his hardened length to the zipper of his pants, the throbbing of his blood down south in time with the beating of his heart.) He couldn't find it in himself to move, and instead he savors the sight of her, like a starving man presented with a plethora of buffet.
When Yoon Seri raised her head and their eyes met, she, wide eyed and him a dark with desire, he braced himself for a wide range of reactions -- from caterwauling to violence involving lamps, pillows, the heavy bed sheets, and said boots to his manhood.
"Ri Jeong Hyeok-ssi," she said, the tenor in her voice deep and it washed over him, as always, and he found himself moving forward, his gazed remaining fixed on her, "I'm burning, Ri Jeong Hyeok-ssi."
He breathes in deep, mustering words he seemed to have forgotten, "I'll get a wash cloth."
"No!" She practically shouts, and he jerks back towards her, almost on her way to the bathroom, "Stay here, stay with me, help me, Ri Jeong Hyeok-ssi."
He never really does know how to not follow her when she looks like that, and he follows the red of her cheeks down her neck, and down her chest -- and he finds himself removing his blazer, walking, always, towards her. He sheds his shoes, and his socks, and by then he's reached the bed, and her arms are stretched outwards. Her fingers meet his shirt, and she grabs a handful and brings him down with her.
He lets a soft exclamation when he lands on a button, he thinks, of her coat, but it was soon pushed out of his consciousness, when Yoon Se-Ri bats at his shoulders and chest until he lying flat on his back, and she is all but crawling on him, and laying on his chest, just so that his chin could rest at the top of her head, and one of her long, shapely legs smack dab in the middle of his. She shifts, all the while never breaking their gaze, until her thigh, luscious and soft, rests upon his very awake, very attentive, cock.
She grins cheekily, putting pressure where he needs it the most, and he responds by grasping the meat of her thigh, and he does it so that his hands begin where the crease of her bottom ends. "So we can burn together, Ri Jeong Hyeok-ssi."
He nods sagely, his other arm locking her body tight against his. "Yes, Seri-ah. I will burn for you."
And that moment stretched to infinity, and it was the last thing he remembered.
---
His eyes snap open to the most arousing sight he has ever seen his entire life, and his body soon catches up, his fingers threading through thick, wavy hair, his legs spreading, the soles of his feet catching the finest sheets this hotel can provide. His brain automatically tries to commit everything to memory, as it does everything that has to do with her; the way her lips, plump and pink, is stretched around him, the warmth of her mouth, the erotic slide of her tongue on the underside of his throbbing cock, following the vein that was his pleasure point, the very same one he's scratched just so yesterday morning while she was asleep, just a room over, the slight jolt of pain and pleasure when her teeth followed her tongue, the feel of her nose pressed on the thicket of his crotch.
"Seri-ah," he groans, and he hears nothing but the sounds of their bodies together, the sounds she makes as she lick him from bottom up, and when she takes him entirely again, when the mushroomed tip reaches the back of her throat and she gags lightly, he cups her jaw and almost forces her to pull out but she digs her fingers on his hips, and gives him a look he knows all too well, holding him in place, so he surrenders to her wants, one hand remaining entwined with her hair, and the other resting on the base of her neck.
She tries again, going down slowly this time, until he feels himself slide further, and she makes a sound that makes everything vibrate just so, that he bucks up, once, twice, before his mind catches up and drags her up, and up, taking advantage of her disorientation and rips the small cloth from her, until he has her thighs on either side of his head, and her folds are open and spread before him, creaming and ripe.
He wastes no time in burying his mouth in her, his hands spanning her hips as he gripped the flesh of her backside until it gave under his strength, and at the back of his head he thinks how maybe she'll bruise, that she'll carry his mark right until she returns to her own country, that she would want no one else but him even after eternity passes. He feels his heart break a little bit more, at the thought that this may be the last he will taste of her, so he takes his fill, opens her folds even further until his they make way for his tongue, lines the sides of her cunt until her petals were laid out for him to see and to touch, to take and to partake. She begins to undulate above him, and he smiles, sees her take her pleasure from him, loves hearing her whine and boss him around at the same time, pleading for release and capture both.
When his tongue slides into her, he closes his eyes to savor every flavor he could name, sweet and tangy and salty, and he catalogs all of it under Yoon Seri. He starts thrusting his tongue softly, in a steady 1, 2, 3, rhythm, then running the flat of his tongue on her outer lips, ensuring no part is left unattended. He feels her fingers through his hair, gripping tight and pulling him further into her, and he complies, his left hand travelling from her back to her front, his fingers spreading her and dipping inside her, his tongue pressed firmly on her clit.
"Ahhh," she starts, and he looks up at her, spares a moment to push the cups of her bra out of the way, and yes, dusky rose it is, like when she bites on her lips for a time with too much pressure, like the color of her womanhood now, all his for the taking. Pert and full and bouncing as she gyrates her hips and her head is thrown back in ecstasy.
He pulls back a bit, resisting her nudging, and he smiles when her hips follow his mouth, but he holds her steady and unmoving. She looks down on him, pupils blown and the normally light chocolate brown eyes so full of spark and strength were soft and vulnerable, and he falls, just a little bit more. He promises to himself she will have no other man, that she will want no other man but him.
"Ri Jeong Hyeok," she starts, voice hoarse and halting.
He softens his hold, cradling her hips and her ass, thumbs caressing skin. "Call me," he says, eyes locked on hers, "Call me yours,"
She nods, one of her hands following the line of his jaw, holding him like the flutter of butterfly wings. "Mine."
Something in him gives, and he speaks her name again, a question and a request that she immediately understands. She slides her legs downwards, until they were face to face, and he moves first, his fingers and nails mapping the sides of her body, until one rested on the side of her face, and the other went back down, up until a finger slid down the crack of her ass and entered her slickness from her back, and her hips answered by thrusting down, ensuring his engorged length, aching now in its fullness, landed in between her nether lips, and they both rocked forward on that first contact. He lunged, his mouth capturing hers on an open mouthed kiss, leaving no question about how and what he felt for her, his tongue sweeping in her mouth like a conqueror and she yielded to him, to his every ministration.
This woman, so small and slight, whose presence was brighter than the sun and whose will was stronger than the foundations of the earth he knows, gives herself to him, and he arches his hips just right, feels the head of his cock catch on her opening and he guides her with a steady weight of his hand on her back, and he doesn't stop, not when her breath hitches and her nails dig into his shoulders, not when her thighs tighten on his hips and her lips form his name, not when she throws her head back and gasps and whines, half yeses and wait, some don't stop and amalgamations of his name. When he's finally inside, fully and irrevocably, he stops, tucks his head against the slope between her neck and shoulders, and bites at flesh, distracts himself from wanting to plunge and thrust, to feel her lose herself in him, to see her shed whatever inhibitions she has left, to know her, bare and his.
And then he feels her thighs widen for him, feels her sit on him properly, legs open and crossed at the ankles on his back, so he meets her gaze and finds himself staring back. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell her he loves her, that he's sorry he's hurt her, that he would do anything she wanted, whatever she wanted, but she moves, arcs her hips just right that he feels he's so deep in her he could never pull out, but she does, agonizingly slow, inch by inch until only the head remains, and then she slides back down fast, and they both let out guttural shouts of each others' names.
He lets her ride him, watches her descend on him like a hurricane and ascend , burns the image of his woman take her pleasure of him, from him. He rocks up in her and circles his hips left as she drives right, and when she loses her rhythm and stills, mouth open and head thrown back, her hands on his thighs and her hips flush against his, her folds fluttering wildly against his flesh buried deep inside her as she reaches the zenith of her pleasure, he follows her, clutching at whatever skin and limb he can reach, pushing her every closer to him and forcing her to take and take.
She collapses, hands on his chest, but her legs still splayed open for him, his softening cock still nestled safely inside her slick. She calls his name, and he answers, but he doesn't move except to pull her bra upwards until she reached to her back and removed the clasps, and he reached between them and threw the offending garment away. He hears her sigh a chuckle, and he smiles, arms encircling her waist and moving so that she was the one lying on her back.
He is greeted with a raised brow, and a quick look down to where he remains where he wants to be, to which he only answers with a shrug and quick open mouthed kiss to her left breast.
"So," she says, quietly, as if afraid to burst the bubble of their creation, "Sleep?"
He nods softly, shifting again so that they are both lying on their sides. "Sleep." He agrees.