[GRATUITOUS SMUT] One of a Kind
Too long since I've written any smut, but here you go... And yes GD if you are reading, this is what I'm offering. /smirk
Inspired by... bubblegum hair and general silliness in the album launch live. How can ANYONE just sit and watch him talk for an hour without wanting to jump him???????
Gaho hears him before I do, scrabbling up from a sleepy sulk and flying out of bed to greet him at the door. He comes through the door with all the grace of a cow, tripping over a stray sneaker and dropping his keys in the hallway. I hear him curse as he bangs into a chair in the dark, probably stubbing a toe as he goes.
By some minor miracle he makes it to our bedroom door in one piece. He turns the bedside lamp on, drops Gaho back into bed and collapses into a prone position himself. Turning over to look at him I see his Paddlepop-coloured hair upturned over the pillow, matching shirt rumpled up exposing the small of his back and the band of his designer boxers.
“Chukhahae,” I whisper. I don’t need to have been there to know he’s probably been monitoring the charts online for the last few hours, worrying his lip and watching to see how many hours it takes to get his all-kill this time.
He raises his face with a smile, a sunbeam in the dark. “Komawo… ah, jinjja pigonhae.”
“Still, you should shower,” I admonish, mindful that he has been at the office all day.
“I shaved,” he mumbles.
“Yes, I saw. Me and the rest of the world,” I chuckle at the recollection of that ultra-random moment. “You only shaved so that you would look good in HD, you babo.”
Caught out, he smiles and flops to the side, every inch of his pose screaming a bashful “ottoke”, complete with legs flailing. The animation is amusing - he’s always animated, but right now I can see the alcohol-fuelled aegyo hard at work. Gaho gets excited and jumps around, stomping on us as if we are inanimate parts of the bed.
“Ow, ow, ow… Gaho…” we both whine, awake from the pain. Gaho is no longer a small puppy that you can pick up with one hand.
“It’s not playtime now, Gaho,” he reprimands firmly. Gaho’s ears drop a notch and he slouches off the bed to look for a toy instead.
“Go shower,” I nag.
“Only if you’re coming.”
“I’m not the one who didn’t shower,” absurdity raises the pitch of my voice.
“Then…” his drops suggestively, “only if I get a reward after.”
“Why should you be rewarded for doing something so ordinary?”
“Cos I’m one of a kind, baby,” he trills, fixing me with a raised eyebrow that disappears into the pink ends of his hair.
I laugh at his self-praise, “Yes, you are - most men don’t need to be told to take a shower.”
“Really? But all the members need to be nagged twice,” he argues, as if they are the most typical examples of mankind in existence.
I don’t want to start a debate, so I shake my head and roll over. He’s quick to follow, though, wrapping his arms around me from behind and rubbing his chin over my cheek.
“See, it’s smooth, isn't it, practically a baby’s bum,” he hums in my ear, mischief lacing every word while rubbing all my ticklish spots and adding puffs of hot breath down my neck for good measure. The warm tang of alcohol on his breath always turns me on - and between helpless, breathless gasps of laughter I find myself unable to say no to the liquor-heat radiating off his body. I push him away and sit up, trying to regain my breath.
“You’re so cute when you’re ticklish like this.”
“It’s not fair,” I pout when he gives up reaching for me. “You’re not ticklish.”
“Cos I won’t be a henpecked husband,” he smirks, loose-limbed and leaning back on his elbows.
“Really? We’ll see about that.” I narrow my eyes and rise to my knees. My fingers tease his belt out of its loops and buckles, and I slide it off his waist as he watches, tell-tale bulge brushing my busy fingers.
I snap the belt theatrically between my hands, eyeing him with a lopsided, evil grin. The smirk is gone from his face, his eyes wider and paying full attention now, propped on his elbows under me.
“Mwohagu…” his question is barely more than a whisper.
My villainesque smile widens. “Strip.” Snap.
There’s wonderment in his eyes as he cocks an eyebrow. I bring the belt down on his exposed calf - how convenient that he’s wearing berms.
“Ow!” his face immediately clouds with indignation, obviously not having expected an actual hit.
“I haven’t got all night,” I lower my voice and deliberately add a little rasp as I mouth “baby.”
He cottons on quickly now. Mischief twinkles in his eyes as he begins to remove the blue shirt that matches his hair and tosses it to the floor.
I shift to give him some room to take off his berms, stroking the belt in my hands without taking my eyes off him for a moment. I have to admit, his working out for the comeback has certainly paid off - the lines and shadows in the dim light of the bedside lamp make for a dangerously sexy chiaroscuro, not to mention the contrasts of the tattoos against the milky skin. As the berms come off and drop onto the floor, I spy a copy of the new album on the side table. He must have brought one home. Sliding off the bed, I go over to it and pick it up. His eyes follow me as I take it to the player and pop it in, setting it to repeat on the first track. The beats start, dark and bassy, his voice filling the room even though he doesn’t speak.
I look sideways at him for a second before I begin to move to the music, eyes flicking up to monitor his reaction as I cross the floor back towards him.
“Hello… Yes, sir, I’m one of a kind,” I mouth along to the lyrics, favouring him with an unmistakably sensual wink as my slip rides high on my thigh. There’s no hiding the tent in his boxers now, and as I get back in bed I step up onto it rather than sink in. I run the belt across my belly and trail it up the back of a thigh, bring it down on his thigh and watch him wince a little. I shimmy my hips to the beat and watch his eyes follow.
“Nal ddarahaeyo, nal ddarahaeyo…” I taunt him with a toss of my hair, all sidegazes and smug smiles.
“Come here, you little…” he’s this close to swearing, I can hear it in the back of his throat.
I dance out of reach, only allowing his questing fingers to brush my gyrating derriere briefly. He lunges forward to pull me down, but I raise my makeshift whip, eyebrows dishing out a warning. He thinks twice, and settles back down, dissatisfaction in every breath. I shake my head at him, and wag a finger for good measure, never losing my self-satisfied smirk.
It’s fun to see him fume, this manchild who has everything he could wish for, unable to obtain something even when it’s so close to him. I tease him, slowly hitching my slip up higher and higher, off, and then throw it at him. He catches it, crumples the soft material in his hands, eyes still trained on me. I break the eye contact, a silent laugh coursing through my mind. He runs his hands through his multi-hued hair, the frustration already showing.
I concede a little, drop to my knees over his lap and allow him to touch my still-moving body. My hips dip over the straining fabric of his erection, teasing it with the tiniest hint of contact. The heat is tempting, and I give in, grinding it so he groans and grips my hips and pulls me closer, closer. My hands go round his neck, my tongue tracing his jawline up to his ear as he gives in, closes his eyes and lets out a muffled ‘mmh’.
For a recording artiste who regularly finds sounds to enrich the soundscape of his work, I find it amusing that he hasn’t managed to capture this exact utterance. I nip a little less than gently the top of his ear, reward myself with another unrecordable gasp.
His breath is hot on my collarbones, hands urgent around my breasts - he hasn’t wasted any time dragging the straps of my bra down my shoulders and uncovering nipples that he can suckle on. He’s not only talented with making music with that mouth of his, that I’ll give him, as I arch my back and throw my head back so he can get a better handhold.
"Say please," I murmur in his ear.
"Oh, please," he dismisses my instruction breezily, cocky smile back on those goddamned sexy lips.
We’ve lost track of how many times the song’s repeated now, but I couldn’t care less and he decides that he’s had enough of waiting and flips me over onto my back, pressing me into the pillows as he rolls on top with the steely glint of determination in his eyes, broken only when he closes them to kiss me. It starts softly, but doesn’t stay that way for long, turning rough and insistent as I taste the familiar flavour of remnant cigarettes. He grinds his body into mine, hard, wanting, hot, and I feel his hands efficiently pushing down both knickers and boxers at once.
“So wet,” a devilish smile as he discovers just how turned on I am, and my answer is merely to hump his fingers wantonly, eyes brazen on his as I grip his now-sculpted arms. He takes the hint, slipping guitarist’s fingers into the warm wetness and coaxing moans from me with an indulgent smile, not minding in the least that I’ve left half-crescents in his skin. He’s not gentle, but that’s hardly new - he’s learned long ago that I’m not as fragile as I look. He bends to catch a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with a deliciously wet tongue as he scissors his fingers, sending ripples of sensation every which way through my brain in a way that makes me see white.
A respite - there’s a pause filled only with his rapping voice from the speakers and his breathing in my ear as he lines himself up, a quiver full of arrow aimed at my soaking centre. A push, a hitch of breath, a feeling of fullness and he’s barreling into me, sheathed to the hilt as a groan escapes his throat and my eyes shut as if to contain the fullness. I can feel myself contracting around him, the natural instinct to reject the intrusion closing down around him, and he feels it too, his sigh gives him away and he begins to move, never one to take no for an answer, claiming his domain with every beat, every thrust.
There isn’t enough air in the room, in the house, in the world for me right now, I hold on to my entire world with both arms, biting and whimpering into the flexing of his shoulder as I literally see stars mocking me from just under the furthest end of his left clavicle. He rocks me in time to the music, his breathing dragging over teeth gritted together, and I can sense him coming undone as the rhythm breaks, music hitching higher as his hips buck harder, driving himself deeper, faster, over the edge.
I’m close, I know, my fingers tight around his wrist, looking for a way to stop myself falling by grabbing a Keith Haring-emblazoned forearm. It’s not working, the tension bunching up in his core, deep in the pit of my belly, our hips dancing a bizarre bachata out of sync with the soundtrack that’s suddenly too slow for the show…
He comes first, a jerking release that has his hands cruelly viced around my arms, blocking the bloodflow and jammed up as far up and in as he can get, knocking something over inside, and I cling to him as I shudder into oblivion, everything goes dark for the longest moment as the universe shrinks to his scent in my nostrils, his heartbeat in my ears and his breath on my skin. He doesn’t move, not a muscle, as I forget to breathe with my face in his skin.
He reaches for the hi-fi remote and shuts off the music, turns out the light. I don’t give a damn about whether he showers anymore, even when he pulls out and curls himself up around me, warm and sticky with unruly bubblegum strips plastered to the side of his face.
“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers, nuzzling my face with his ‘baby’s bum’ chin before he falls asleep fast on my back like a baby monkey.
My eyes are closed but I know that smile, it’s just too damn one of a kind.