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They used to do that before too, when it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Mingyu remembers the first time their lips touched like this, dry and funny and nothing like a kiss, smoke between them like a reassuring barrier. 

It’s not really like that anymore. She knows now that you don’t shotgun with your friends, not really, not seriously. She knows, too, that you can’t really get high just off sharing smoke, but it must be psychosomatic because all she’s had is weed-flavored carbon dioxide directly from Wonwoo’s mouth and yet she feels dizzy, heady, her limbs light like cotton. 

“Hey,” Wonwoo whispers, giggles. Her hand is on Mingyu’s forearm, not quite holding, just - there. It’s nice. Skin on skin, warmth on warmth. It’s nice. 

“Hey,” Mingyu repeats, giggles too. She likes pot because it gives her an excuse to laugh at everything, which she does sober anyway. It’s just less weird on drugs. Grinning, she leans in to kiss Wonwoo for real, no ulterior motive. Wonwoo’s wearing dark red lipstick, leaving imprints on everything she touches - the Domino’s branded napkins, the bong, Mingyu’s mouth. When she parts her lips for Mingyu’s tongue she tilts her head back too, easy and pliant. She tastes like pepperoni pizza and marijuana but it’s okay. Mingyu, too, isn’t at her best right now. 

“Hey,” Wonwoo laughs again, “I’m really stoned right now.” 

No surprises there. Mingyu found her lazily finishing a joint while not-watching TV before she lit the bong for them, eyes rimmed red and watery already. 

Mingyu grins. “Wanna fool around?” 

“Want to kiss you some more,” Wonwoo shakes her head. She traces Mingyu’s jaw with her lips, the tiniest bit chapped from smoking and dried-out waterproof lipstick, so very slowly. She’s always measured in her movements but high she becomes a sloth, sometimes suspends herself in the middle of an action, adorably lost. She’s too focused on Mingyu for that to happen now, but it has before. 

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu sighs, hand finding the back of her neck, caressing the baby hair there tenderly. Wonwoo nips gently at her throat in response. The bong lays forgotten somewhere on the carpet. “Wonwoo,” Mingyu says again, insistent this time. Her fingertips and toes are buzzing, electricity running along her spine too. It’s not a fire yet but it could be, warmth spreading, charcoal incandescent. 

Wonwoo mmhs against her collarbone. “Whatcha want, baby?” 

“I’m horny,” Mingyu admits, honest. 

Wonwoo trails a hand down her belly, then over Mingyu’s pastel pink boxers, and further down...

“You’re wet,” she smirks, sounding awfully self-satisfied for someone who hasn’t done that much yet. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu blushes. “I told you.”

“Take off your shirt, baby,” Wonwoo says before removing her hand. Mingyu whines at the loss. She obeys anyway, and reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra, too. She wishes she was one of those girls that just go around their day braless but that has never been a realistic option for her. On the plus side, Wonwoo likes having something to hold - has told her so numerous times. It’s nice to feel appreciated. 

Wonwoo leaves burgundy lipstick above her collarbone, and a little lower, mouthing lazily more than kissing or biting. Mingyu is ticklish, always tempted to squirm away when her body can’t quite figure out sensations, but then Wonwoo reaches up to cup one breast, thumb circling around a hardening nipple, and Mingyu shifts on her knees, squirming closer in a shudder. She’s about to demand more when Wonwoo replaces her fingers with her tongue, and Mingyu’s words die in her throat, choked and forgotten. She’s sensitive, even more so because of the light high. 

Wonwoo takes her time. It’s the one downside to having her stoned: time passes at various speeds and none of them seem to affect Wonwoo’s patient focus. When her mouth is left her fingers are right, and vice versa, and soon enough the alternation has Mingyu keening, back arching outwards, pleading wordlessly. Begging with words doesn’t really work on Wonwoo. Mingyu has not been with another woman so she doesn’t know if it’s a girl thing or a Wonwoo thing, but her ex boyfriends all seemed to particularly enjoy it when she made her voice tiny and whimpered please, and without that weapon she doesn’t really know how to win. The fact that Wonwoo can go for hours really doesn’t help either. Mingyu is bad at waiting, and worse at sitting still. 

But even if she’s iron-willed Wonwoo wants her, wants her all the time and with fervor, has demonstrated that enough. Sex with Wonwoo isn’t a battle and Mingyu doesn’t need to win - she lets herself be taken willingly, not a conquest but a homecoming. 

She lets her head dip back, rest against the edge of their sofa. Wonwoo plants a kiss between her breasts before going lower - the center of her ribcage, the flat pane of her stomach, her navel. Her breath is hot on Mingyu’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“Wonwoo,” she frowns. It feels like she’s been repeating her girlfriend’s name for the past hour, vocabulary reduced to this single word. “Please,” and this is an honest please, a wrecked and hungry please, “Touch me.” 

She feels Wonwoo smile against her belly and then hands are pushing her legs apart, spread just enough to make space for a body between them. Then two fingers rubbing her through the cotton of her underwear, slow but steady, one two one two like her heart. Squirming, she blindly looks for purchase, something to hold, settles on the cushion behind her. Wonwoo huffs happily. 

“Baby,” she says, and Mingyu lets it ripple like soft waves over her, the fondness of it. It makes her feel tiny and protected. She likes feeling tiny and protected. It’s new and good. “You look beautiful,” Wonwoo continues, and that makes Mingyu red all over, burning. The one downside to weed is how devastatingly sincere it makes Wonwoo. 

By the time she finally slides her hand under the waistband Mingyu is so slick she doesn’t think she needs any prep but Wonwoo still goes infuriatingly slow, strokes her fingertips across Mingyu’s folds, dips in just enough to smear the wetness around.

“Oh my God,” Mingyu swears under her breath, shifting her thighs further apart, “Are you going to do something.

“Yes,” Wonwoo says, sounding vaguely amused, and then she crooks her fingers deliberately up and presses down on Mingyu’s clit with her thumb. 

Mingyu inhales sharply, teeth digging into her bottom lip to contain her reflexive scream. She twists her hips towards Wonwoo to push her deeper, brain hazy from lust and not caring about how desperate she looks anymore. Wonwoo pumps her fingers in and out leisurely, and when Mingyu opens her eyes and stares up she finds her smiling. It never ceases to leave her in awe, how much pleasure Wonwoo seems to derive simply from getting Mingyu off. 

“That’s it, baby,” she murmurs when Mingyu pushes herself upwards to get more friction, “Ride my hand, just like that.” 

In this position she needs to hold on to Wonwoo’s shoulders, and it gives her more leverage and control but it also means they’re looking each other directly face to face, and that is - a lot. She buries her nose in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck instead, focuses solely on the sweet pressure building up in her gut, the squelching sound of Wonwoo’s fingers inside her, the throbbing waves of heat where Wonwoo’s thumb is still rubbing cyclically on her clit. She’s so close she can taste it, sharp and potent. 

Fuck,” she hisses. “Fuck, fuuuuck,” four syllables long. Rolling her hips erratically she chases her own orgasm with frantic desperation, nails digging into the flesh of Wonwoo’s shoulder through her plaid shirt. 

Wonwoo lets her slump against her, gently removes her fingers and wipes them on her own thigh, which Mingyu greatly appreciates. 

“Gimme just like. Forty seconds,” she mumbles. 

Wonwoo chuckles. “I’m okay.” 

“I want to eat you out,” Mingyu insists, “Just let me catch my breath.” 

“Kiss me first,” Wonwoo says, angling Mingyu’s face up hand on her jaw. Mingyu loves making out post-sex. She likes how languid it gets, how aimless. Before Wonwoo she thought of kissing mainly as a means to an end, something to get in the mood. She understands expressions like making out like teenagers now. She does feel the tiniest bit younger like this, mouth open for Wonwoo to lick inside filthy and hot, holding her exactly where she wants her. It ignites the flame again, but kept at bay, flickering from afar. No urgency, just a gentle spark. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, palm flat above Wonwoo’s chest, not quit pushing but suggesting, “Let me.” 

Wonwoo allows herself to be laid down on the carpet. She's wearing a black tank top with an open flannel on top, and a pair of jean shorts. Mingyu focuses on the latter, pops the two metal buttons between her fingers. Underneath Wonwoo has the simplest pair of black panties on. She’s always practical with her underwear, but it’s sexy anyway, black cotton on golden skin cut at exactly the right places. Wonwoo spreads her legs to bracket Mingyu between her thighs and lifts her hips up to let her work off the panties. Mingyu bends down and kisses her stomach, then plants a second kiss right above the elastic band, and then obliges, shucking the underwear behind her when she’s done. 

“You better find that for me after,” Wonwoo warns, fake-annoyed. Mingyu snorts. 

She palms the expanse of Wonwoo’s smooth thighs, pushes them wider to suck a mark at the crease where thigh and pelvis meet - teeth first then lips and tongue, soothing. Wonwoo likes bruises where only she can see them, well-kept secrets, secrets she can touch later and remember. Mingyu likes rediscovering them, pressing experimentally, recreating them. She licks a line from all the way up to the jut of Wonwoo’s hipbone, tastes sweat and something else underneath, the familiar saltiness of Wonwoo’s skin. 

That too, she knows, should have clued her in to the fact she doesn’t like men much earlier. How she never cared much for what made them them, distinct individuals and not just faceless bodies in her bed. 

She could inhale eyes closed and know if Wonwoo’s standing close to her. She’s been able to recognize her by smell for a long time now. Her hair always smells faintly of vanilla because of her conditioner. Her perfume is fruity, heady. 

Wonwoo shudders, hand coming to rest on the crown of Mingyu’s head. Her fingers twist in Mingyu’s long hair when Mingyu gets her mouth on her, the flat of her tongue painting a broad stroke from the base of her cunt to her clit. She presses a kiss there, then spears her tongue just to feel Wonwoo tremble again. She’s so wet, all from getting Mingyu off, and that’s a feedback loop of desire, getting Mingyu like a punch in the gut. 

Wonwoo isn’t loud but it doesn’t mean she isn’t talkative. In bed and out of it, Mingyu has learned to decipher silent sentences as if they were made out of words. Here it means watching the way Wonwoo cants her hips up at the swirl of Mingyu’s tongue, listening for the hitch in her breath. Mingyu introduces a finger and Wonwoo’s right knee goes up, leg bending in the sharpest angle. 

“Fuck, baby,” she grunts when Mingyu starts actually fingering her, tonguing lazily at her clit. Mingyu slips in a second finger and Wonwoo’s abdominal muscles contract, lifting her back lightly off the ground. Her whole body is thrumming with tension now, breath coming out sharp. 

Mingyu starts pumping her fingers faster when her jaw gets sore, and Wonwoo’s grip on her hair becomes hard, unrestrained. She kicks her leg out when Mingyu changes techniques and sucks on her clit instead, her body tensing like stretched wire. Internally grinning Mingyu repeats the motion, once, twice, and that’s all it takes to push Wonwoo over the edge in a strangled shout, cunt spasming around Mingyu’s fingers before she goes completely boneless. Mingyu keeps fucking her through the aftershocks until she twitches away, laughing weakly. 

“Enough, Jesus, you’re insatiable.” 

Mingyu flops on her back next to her, their bare arms grazing. 

“Was it good?” 

She was mainly aiming for teasing but even to her own ears she sounds sort of overeager. Argh. 

Wonwoo answers earnestly. “Yeah. It’s always good.”

“You’re nice,” Mingyu hides her face against Wonwoo’s bicep. 

“Yeah, I am,” Wonwoo rolls her eyes, “But you’re also good in bed. Stop overthinking stuff.” 

“Okay,” Mingyu says, muffled. Wonwoo kisses the top of her head. 

In a few minutes the hardwood under their green carpet will make itself known and they will have to move if they want to avoid achy limbs. But in the meantime, for a long weed-distorted minute suspended in ether, everything is absolutely perfect.

Mingyu smiles to herself and shuts her eyes.