Electricity 1/1
Author's Note: Because my tlist is full of perverts and 2PM is looking DELICIOUS in their teaser pics for "Hands Up." Wrote this REAL quick, lol.
Stumbling, tipsy, horny. You can't help yourselves. It's electricity; a shock that runs up your spine as he grabs you, hands around the waist and lips tasting each pore of your skin. Rip. Tear. Clothes are being sheared off with the hold and pull of his hands. Fingertips are jabbing at the urgency, bruises rising on your skin. Your back hits a door. Black car. Long. Sleek. Fuck this urgency. You want the door open.
His jacket is bright red. Too many accessories on it, hanging and torn as you pull him in. Your back hits first and your knee is shoved back. God he wants to touch you. He wants you touching him. Friction. Heat. You both need more of this jolt; this electricity. Rip. Tear. Pants gone. Panties gone. It's all thrown.
"Damn," he whispers.
You push him, now trying to get rid of all the damn layers. His ring is imprinting itself on your hip, now naked and shifting as he lays on another chair. You're sure you hear a crash. Drinks spilled. Grand Marnier. Heated orange alcohol hits your nose. Heat. So much heat in the air in so little time. More friction...then air. Then friction. It's smooth. It's wet. He's in you and fuck...
...more...
Movement. Up and down and hard and slick. Hands on his chest. He rips your shirt. Your bra is torn. He's gripping hard on your breasts, mashing and flicking and making you moan.
"Fuck. ...fuck."
Hot. Hard. ...harder. So wet. Sounds of slapping and sweat beads. His blonde hair falls flat from the moisture. Windows are fogging and muscles are sore but fuck...
Fuck.
He sits up and your knee is pushed again. Over his shoulder. He looks so calm but his breath is hitting the air in front of you before he dives in, lips devouring yours. His tongue is hot, his breaths are warm.
"Keep going. Don't stop."
You can't talk anymore. Groaning. It's both of you making noise now. His chest rumbles in the dark, sparks of light flickering outside in a world you could care less about at the moment. He grabs the back of your head, wanting more. Always more.
You give it to him.
He pushes you back and you're both straining. Get the jacket off, you tell yourself. You want his skin on you. That sweet, illusive touch.
More ripping. The shirt didn't make it.
Your hands slide around his back, pulling him in with each thrust. You want him to pull your hair, take you as hard and as hungry as he wanted until it hurt.
Damn it hurt so good.
You're sighing, face scrunching as you feel the sweet pain. You know you're swelling and the seat's wet and you're sliding and...
...damn.
More kisses. They're rough, but that's how you wanted it. It's so hard for him and he's slurring on your lips, feeling you squeeze and jolt as that final jump hits both of you.
"...Wooyoung..."
You stretch his name out and pull at his hair, wanting him to let go and cum. Do it hard. Fill me up, you say. Legs wrap around him and you're whimpering, smiling devilishly when you see him shake. He's twitching, holding you close as his shouts puncture the air.
You need a cigarette. You want a hit of something to get you off your high. Do you even smoke? You wonder.
It's a reckoning every time he hits you, and even now when he takes you in his arms to lick you up, tasting your skin like it's nectar. His tongue raps at your nipples, making you wet again and you feel the smile spread against your skin. His fingers trail down your sides, your hips, then across your thighs. He's dipping in, feeling how wet you made the seat; how wet he made you. ...how wet he's making you.
Electricity. It's convulses through you and you need another hit, another spike of volts to hit your system and spur your nerves into the oblivion of ecstasy he leaves you in.
Stumbling, tipsy, horny. You can't help yourselves. It's electricity; a shock that runs up your spine as he grabs you, hands around the waist and lips tasting each pore of your skin. Rip. Tear. Clothes are being sheared off with the hold and pull of his hands. Fingertips are jabbing at the urgency, bruises rising on your skin. Your back hits a door. Black car. Long. Sleek. Fuck this urgency. You want the door open.
His jacket is bright red. Too many accessories on it, hanging and torn as you pull him in. Your back hits first and your knee is shoved back. God he wants to touch you. He wants you touching him. Friction. Heat. You both need more of this jolt; this electricity. Rip. Tear. Pants gone. Panties gone. It's all thrown.
"Damn," he whispers.
You push him, now trying to get rid of all the damn layers. His ring is imprinting itself on your hip, now naked and shifting as he lays on another chair. You're sure you hear a crash. Drinks spilled. Grand Marnier. Heated orange alcohol hits your nose. Heat. So much heat in the air in so little time. More friction...then air. Then friction. It's smooth. It's wet. He's in you and fuck...
...more...
Movement. Up and down and hard and slick. Hands on his chest. He rips your shirt. Your bra is torn. He's gripping hard on your breasts, mashing and flicking and making you moan.
"Fuck. ...fuck."
Hot. Hard. ...harder. So wet. Sounds of slapping and sweat beads. His blonde hair falls flat from the moisture. Windows are fogging and muscles are sore but fuck...
Fuck.
He sits up and your knee is pushed again. Over his shoulder. He looks so calm but his breath is hitting the air in front of you before he dives in, lips devouring yours. His tongue is hot, his breaths are warm.
"Keep going. Don't stop."
You can't talk anymore. Groaning. It's both of you making noise now. His chest rumbles in the dark, sparks of light flickering outside in a world you could care less about at the moment. He grabs the back of your head, wanting more. Always more.
You give it to him.
He pushes you back and you're both straining. Get the jacket off, you tell yourself. You want his skin on you. That sweet, illusive touch.
More ripping. The shirt didn't make it.
Your hands slide around his back, pulling him in with each thrust. You want him to pull your hair, take you as hard and as hungry as he wanted until it hurt.
Damn it hurt so good.
You're sighing, face scrunching as you feel the sweet pain. You know you're swelling and the seat's wet and you're sliding and...
...damn.
More kisses. They're rough, but that's how you wanted it. It's so hard for him and he's slurring on your lips, feeling you squeeze and jolt as that final jump hits both of you.
"...Wooyoung..."
You stretch his name out and pull at his hair, wanting him to let go and cum. Do it hard. Fill me up, you say. Legs wrap around him and you're whimpering, smiling devilishly when you see him shake. He's twitching, holding you close as his shouts puncture the air.
You need a cigarette. You want a hit of something to get you off your high. Do you even smoke? You wonder.
It's a reckoning every time he hits you, and even now when he takes you in his arms to lick you up, tasting your skin like it's nectar. His tongue raps at your nipples, making you wet again and you feel the smile spread against your skin. His fingers trail down your sides, your hips, then across your thighs. He's dipping in, feeling how wet you made the seat; how wet he made you. ...how wet he's making you.
Electricity. It's convulses through you and you need another hit, another spike of volts to hit your system and spur your nerves into the oblivion of ecstasy he leaves you in.