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Velvet Boxes

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“What is this?”

He looks up and catches sight of a familiar velvet box clutched tightly in Rachel’s hand, her face a careful, inscrutable mask.  She could have been asking after something as innocuous as the weather, so placid was her expression. It was potentially threatening and Young Do eases the sudden tension with a long exhale. Well. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Your engagement ring,” he offers frankly, panic fleeting. There is a brief flicker behind her eyes and Young Do knows she wasn’t expecting him to be so forthright. He smiles mildly and leans back in his chair. Your move. 

She considers him for a moment, fingers tightening around the box before she slides forward to set it down on his desk. He’s learned to tamp down on his impulsiveness, but it doesn’t stop Young Do from considering the gesture as a possible refusal. He stares at the stupid box for a moment, expression neutral, and looks back to her.

“You didn’t even try,” is what she says when she takes a seat in the chair across from him, primly brushing her hair back and over her shoulder. “I found it on the floor.”

He takes the comment in a stride, not bothering to tell her that it had actually been in the pocket of his pants, the pants that had quickly hit the floor once she’d all but dragged him onto the couch by his lapels the night before. He’d just bought the ring and hadn’t thought of it once after she’d put her hands on him, lips warm against his neck. It was a careless oversight, but he thought he could be forgiven given the circumstances. 

"Well maybe it’s not for you," he chastises, wry, and enjoys the scoff it draws from her. 

"I’m giving you another chance," she ignores his comment, sliding the ring forward across the desk. "Don’t disappoint me."

He holds his hands up as if in surrender, holding it long enough that she rolls her eyes at him.

"Good. Now," he barely has a moment to palm the velvet box before she’s suddenly standing, fingers going to the hidden zipper holding her dress together at the side. He’s wide eyed for only a moment, throat closing compulsively as he struggles to adjust to this new scenario.  He watches her, absently sliding the ring box back into his pocket as she comes around the desk and seats herself on the wood, fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. 

"Rachel," he murmurs, breathing steadily through his nose lest he lose all control right there. She knocks his legs over and open so that she can settle between them, a determined, domineering expression on her face. (He likes that expression, it’s one of his favourites). "Not that I’m complaining but—"he breaks off, hissing as she places a palm on the inside of his thigh, dangerously close. "The door."

"Locked," she dismisses and brushes a stray hair back from his forehead. Now that she’s closer to him he can see the too bright expression, the tremor in her smile and the strength of her grip on his shoulder as she tries to bring him closer. He furrows his brow, rubbing soothing circles against her hip. 


She kisses him hard, less violent than passionate, frantic to express something she could not contain or understand herself.  He leans into it, suddenly just as overwhelmed and impatient as she is. He gets it then. 

"Now," she nips at his lip, holding him back by his nape to keep him from kissing her again. They hang there, her breath against his lips and he nearly growls his displeasure. Tease. ”Don’t disappoint me.”

She’s practically beaming at her challenge, smug and haughty atop the desk, but he can hear the hitch in every breath she takes. He smirks and slowly stands, hands on her thighs as he crowds her back against the desk.

"Not a problem."

For the second time in two days, Rachel’s engagement ring ends up on the floor.