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i like it when you say don't stop (오빠)

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It’s late when Yunho arrives back at his flat. 

Or rather than late, it can also be argued that it is, in fact, very early.

Yunho toes his shoes and socks off while leaning against the wall, sighing as his forehead comes into contact with the cool marble. God, but that feels good.

He shouldn’t have agreed when Chilhyun-hyung started pouring the vodka. Yunho’s not a good drinker. But well, needs must. 

If the only other person present was BoA, he might have demurred, and stuck to his habitual glass of Cola. But Junmyeon was there too, and Jinki. Even Joohyeon had showed up, smiling and awkward before fleeing after the first hour.

Chilhyun-hyung had even invited Taeyong, starry-eyed and stuttering the boy was in the presence of exalted company seniors. 

Hyukjae tried to help, but Taeyeon had to pour him into a cab too, after only eight shots. Jeongsoo-hyung was smart to send Hyukjae in his stead.

It was fine. It is fine. Yunho has practice taking care of himself. Even when it comes to alcohol.

Yunho opens his eyes. Oh. He must have dozed off standing up.

He peels himself off of the wall with some difficulty, and nearly cracks his head open when he trips over his own shoes. He barely regains his balance, wobbly.

Gazing into the dark recesses of his flat with drunken trepidation, Yunho announces, “I’m going to leave my shoes like this.”

They list on the floor, haphazardly toppled onto their sides. 

He staggers about three steps before the hitherto blazing streak of mutiny fades, and he turns back to his scattered footwear.

“Why am I so whipped,” he mutters to himself. 

Crouched down like this, he can smell the tang of alcohol, and the stink of fags heavy on his own breath. Chilhyun-hyung had offered.

His head is spinning. Grumbling, he shakes it once, twice, and rights his shoes, reaching up to slot this particular pair into the top shelf of his shoe rack. 

The socks, he stuffs into the recesses, tucked away beneath the tongues.

Dusting his hands, he stands again, one hand clutching the wall for support. He looks down at the neatened shoe rack, and laughs. “It’s not like there’ll be surprise inspections done in my own home.”

Yunho feels his way through the living room, and lingers by the sofa, before making the executive decision for his pounding head and his noodly legs that he’ll sleep in the bed tonight. Everything looks too hazy and wobbly for him to concentrate on a home shopping channel binge. 

At this rate, a familiar mocking voice whispers through his aching temples, you’ll buy kitchen products at their usual price instead of slashed offerings encompassing gifts-with-purchase.

Yunho shakes his head hard, once.

Then he moans in regret. He shouldn’t have done that.

In any case, here he is, staggering through his own flat after a company concert and company drinks. It’s his own damned home with his own damned standards of cleanliness and he’ll sleep in his own damned bed in his own damned bedroom tonight.

He goes to his own damned bedroom, flicks the light switch on and promptly shrieks.

There’s a girl in his bed.

Yunho backs up two steps instinctively, before his bleary eyes catch up to his terrified fight-or-flight instinct that is screaming you can’t fight her it’s a girl it’s a sasaeng call someone not the police.

The girl unfurls herself from where she’s been reclined on Yunho’s duvet, casually reading the newest Japanese non-fiction bestseller that has been on Yunho’s bed stand for months, because it was a recommendation, and, oh.

It’s not a girl. Well.

“Oppa,” the not-girl says, voice low and disapproving. “It’s three in the morning. Stop shouting. Your neighbours are sleeping.”

Nearly addled from the fright he has just taken, and also the haze of alcohol, Yunho blurts, “my flat is soundproof. You know that.”

The not-girl’s lips flatten into a wide thin line. 

“Sorry,” Yunho is slow, his head still muddled by alcohol and tiredness. “Sorry, Cha-”

“That’s not my name,” the not-girl interrupts. He- she swings her legs down from the bed. Her feet are bare, but then she tucks them into heeled sandals, and saunters over to where Yunho’s huddled against his bedroom wall. She hasn't changed out of her dress yet.

Yunho looks at hi- her, and then her clad feet. 

Back up at her again, because in heels, she’s half a head taller than him. It fries Yunho’s brain a little, to look properly at her in her dress. 

There is a lot of red lace and satin.

“You said no shoes in the flat,” Yunho’s mouth clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.

The not-girl crosses her arms. She’s removed the ridiculous cloud of feathers crowding upon her chest the last time Yunho saw hi- her backstage, before he was dragged to do the niceties. 

Removing it, however, means that she’s able to do interesting things to the lace by merely folding her arms across her chest.

Yunho can’t look away. The lace hides nothing. It flirts with hi- her nipples. They’re all tight and perky and beaded and outlined in red.

“Perky,” Yunho’s mouth says. It really hasn’t got the memo, or anything at all.

The not-girl looks down at her chest, and snorts. She tucks a curl from her wig behind her ear coquettishly. “You’re drunk, aren’t you, oppa?”

It’s not a question. Not really. 

Yunho doesn’t usually blush. They’ve been taught too well in their youth to control such facial quirks. But he’s also had way too much to drink, and between that and how she looks and how she’s looming closer, and staring down at him along her nose, with faint disdain.

Yunho’s face is on fire.

The not-girl laughs, low in her throat. She’s right in front of him, one hand coming up to palm his face. His chin is gripped lightly, and she tilts his head back to, oh. 

She’s sniffing at him now, drawing in deep, deliberate breaths along the line of his neck, and up; while her fingers are sure about his jaw. 

The tip of her little finger strokes, just below his ear.

“Oppa drank,” she states, pulling away to meet his eyes. “A lot.” 

“Nrngbbfle,” Yunho says. 

That makes her laugh, a soft stifled chuckle, even as she leans in again. The tip of her nose brushes against the jumping beat of his pulse. 

Yunho flails, ticklish.

“Oppa smoked, too,” she murmurs, raspy low. “Much more than he drank.”

She pulls back so she can glance down at him through her eyelashes, inky crescents upon her cheek, already naturally long and aided further by mascara. “What did I say about fags? Oppa’s been bad.”

Yunho makes another sound deep in his throat, helpless. His gaze is drawn to her mouth, at the wide seam of it. He can see a glimpse of her teeth, and she flicks her tongue out, to deliberately swipe at her lower lip.

“Chang-” he starts, and doesn’t go any further.

She presses close, and grabs for his wrists, pulling them back and behind, leaving only one hand to cage his hands behind his back.

The way his hands are held means Yunho has to stand straighter, chest pushed out by virtue of how his shoulders are pulled back as a result. 

Her voice is a smoky whisper in his ear. “I said, that’s not my name.”

Yunho sucks in a breath as she licks along the helix of his ear, and down, to take the vulnerable curve of his earlobe into her mouth. 

She sucks.

It pulls a moan out from his mouth, overly loud in the quiet of his bedroom. He gets louder in protest, when it makes her pull away, looking down.

“I would have thought oppa drank too much to get hard,” she ponders, thoughtful. She takes her hand away from his jaw then, and Yunho draws in a breath, only to choke on it when her hand finds its way to his crotch instead. 

“But,” she continues, fingers curving around the jut of his cock, pressing against his jeans. “What is this? Oppa wants to play?”

“Cha-” Yunho tries, and swallows the sound, when she flicks a glare at him. He inhales again, breath stuttering out as her fingers worry their way around his cock. “Please.”

“Please, what?” She’s clearly enjoying herself, judging from the smug curve of her grin. Her hand unbuttons his jeans and pulls at the zipper, slipping its sure way inside, and down his boxer briefs. “Does oppa want something?”

Yunho brings his head back hard against the wall, in an effort to make his brain restart. It doesn’t do anything except make her frown, and she takes her hand away from his jeans to smooth over the back of his head instead, which was not something Yunho wanted. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she says, carding fingers through his hair. She steps closer, and kicks lightly at his feet, until he spreads them with a low gasp, for her to stand between. “Use your words. Oppa’s not too drunk for that, is he?”

Yunho tips his head back into the cradle of her palm and tries to remember how to speak. It’s hard when he’s not sober and her mouth is distracting him.

“Touch my cock,” he enunciates, each consonant crisp. He stares down at the scant gap between them, where his bare feet bracket hers, strapped up in heels and toes bare. “Please.”

It makes her laugh, and she pushes his hair back from where it’s fallen over his forehead. Her other hand is still a cage about his wrists, and her thumb is stroking circles around the jut of bone just below his palm. “So polite. My oppa has manners.”

He tries to sway into her, arching for her mouth, but she angles her head away. “No. Oppa will taste of fags. It’s disgusting.”

Her hips are however sure against his, and pressing down heavily, red satin whispering against the rougher rasp of denim. 

Yunho pushes again, a sound of distress caught up behind his teeth, but she’s adamant and he can’t press forward too far because she’s pulling back at his wrists, and she’s strong, and oh.

He falls back against the wall, breath shuddering out through him. He’s still fully clad, even with his jeans loose about his hips, but already he feels wrecked.

Yunho’s not certain if he’s drunk off of alcohol or lust now, but it doesn’t matter. He chases after her mouth again, an obstinate grunt working its way out from behind clenched teeth, when she just stares back at him, and exerts the pressure on his wrists, until she’s got his back arched like a bow.

“But,” she continues, mock-sweetness lending a honeyed edge to her voice. Her fingers are still punishingly tight about his wrists. “I know of a way to make oppa’s mouth taste a little sweeter.”

She lets go of his wrists in the next second, and Yunho blinks at her, dismay thick in his throat.

He doesn’t even get to protest, because now she’s pulling him forward, and backwards to his bed, face calm and one long arm tight around Yunho’s waist.

Yunho’s heaved on top of the duvet, and flat on his back before he can blink.

She’s crouching over him, thighs spread and rendering her skirt obscene. 

One long leg is bared under his greedy gaze, and Yunho’s eyes trace their way up, up until tanned skin ends in red satin and lace at her hip. At least the stage directors didn't make her shave her legs. He's thankful for that. But.

“Where’s your underwear,” he croaks out. When they had said goodbye backstage, she was still in her outfit, and he was sure he saw black lining the edge of the slit in her dress. 

“Took it off,” She says, calm as she pleases. “It was chafing me.”

She comes closer then, her knees wide around Yunho. Her heels make shushing noises as they drag against his duvet. She walks her knees up, until she’s not quite sitting and high up on his chest. 

This close, Yunho can see what her underwear was chafing against, and in great detail.

Her back is to the light, and Yunho can’t quite see her face. If Yunho closes his eyes, he’ll almost believe that it’s really a girl squatting over him. 

Except no girl is so strong and smells so familiar, even from behind the black of his eyelids. 

Yunho’s thoughts grind to a halt when she bends low to smile at him, and pulls the drape of her skirt aside. 

Her cock bumps up against his chin, and lips. Its head is already wet. 

“Be good, oppa,” she purrs, smearing pre-cum across his lips, “and say hello.”

Yunho tilts his head back, and opens up, eager. She’s got him lying properly on his bed, and his pillows are comfortable beneath his neck.

She feeds her cock into his mouth, an approving hum low in her throat. It’s slow-going, and long, and Yunho tilts his head up, to make the fit easier.

Yunho has no illusions about his talents regarding blowjobs. She’s told him many times over -moreso when she is a he- that his mouth is small. 

Even now, he still can’t quite deepthroat, although they’ve had years and years worth of practice. He makes up for it with tenacity, nevertheless.

He’s tenacious even now. Keeping his head up, and his neck arched off the pillow, he breathes steadily through his nose as he wraps his mouth around her.

She pushes in, and in. Hunched over him, her breath is finally going shaky as Yunho’s tongue curls around her cock. “Oh, oppa.”

Yunho sighs low in his throat. The taste of her is heavy on his tongue, and he brings his hands up to clutch at her hips.

Red satin slips beneath his fingers, and he digs them in for better purchase.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, oppa, oh.”

She lets him go on like that for a bit, breath heavy and fracturing over him, a series of deep guttural ohs dragged from her lips. 

Even lying down like this, he can’t quite get the whole length of her down his throat. Whatever he can fit in, he takes long pulls instead, keeping his mouth is tight and grasping.

“Such a good boy,” she comments, crooning soft.

Yunho just shudders, contentment low in his belly, and sucks harder.

“No,” she drags him off of her by his hair when he worms his tongue into her slit, chasing the slight thickening of bitterness. 

His teeth scrape against her pulling out, and now his mouth feels too empty.

Yunho whines, pressing his head hard back against her fingers, mouth hurting and open and gasping. Her cock is beautiful and long and angry-looking. 

There’s a vein jumping, on the underside of its head. 

He wants to bite it. 

“No,” she repeats, swiping a thumb along the wet curve of his lower lip. She’s still backlit by the lights, but she’s close enough for him to see even through drink-bleary eyes. 

She’s grinning. “I’m going to come in you.”

“But,” Yunho begins, barely coherent, and still reaching for her cock. He cuts himself off with a groan, because she’s peeling his jeans off and dragging his jumper over his head. 

Now he’s naked, and she’s still in the damned dress. Although her lap is now a rumpled mess of saliva from him and precum from her, something that Yunho’s rather proud of.

He’s swiping his fingers through it, but she catches at his hands and pins them above his head instead. Her legs are tight about his waist, and she’s smiling at him, shark-like. 

Their mouths are a breath apart. 

Yunho lunges up, to catch her mouth, absurdly pleased when she lets him. 

She sucks on his tongue, her mouth hard and biting, and lets go of him with a nip to murmur, “tastes like me. That’s better, oppa.”

“You like?” Yunho asks, fidgeting. His dick hurts from all the play, because it’s been a long time since she touched him. He wants her to touch him, proper touching, not this teasing that’s been driving him insane and his hole clench unto itself. “Does Ch- do you like?”

He gets rewarded for voluntarily cutting himself off, and she leans in for another kiss, slick and hot and domineeringly sweet.

By the end of it, Yunho can’t stop moaning, cries high and trapped at the back of his throat. He pushes his hips up, to press and rut against the curve of hers, separated by only a layer of rumpled wet satin. 

“I do,” she replies, and lists close to mouth at his bare chest.

Her smirk is a curve imprinted just below his clavicle, and her wig is getting damp with her sweat. The previously neat locks are plastered to the sides of her jaws and neck. “I like it so much, oppa, that I’m going to play with your tits now.”

The crude remark burns a blaze of embarrassment through him, and he squirms, gasping.

She only chuckles, as she lets go of his hands to frame her fingers around his chest instead, thumbing at his nipples.

“I’m a girl,” she muses wickedly, digging the edge of her nails into his nipples, the slight hint of pain winding Yunho up even further, “but your tits are bigger, oppa. It’s not fair.” 

She pinches one in between her fingers and kind of topples herself so her weight’s fully on him, and now she’s licking at the other. 

Yunho fumbles at her, his own hands clutched tight at her shoulders, his own nails digging in. 

He can feel her teeth, and she’s suckling at him, and. 

Arousal is a white-hot fire through him, pooling into an ache deep inside, “don’t tease, please, don’t don’t don’t, please don’t-”

She lifts off of him to press the sides of his chest together, her fingers splaying just above his ribs. Mouthing into the valley she’s created, she laughs. “Am I teasing?”

Yes,” Yunho shouts. 

He’s going mad. Lust and adrenaline are helping him shed the blur of the alcohol. He throws his head back, panting, as she pulls hard on his nipples, until it hurts good.  

Fingers scrabbling harder against her back, he leans up, to try and kiss her again. The red lace is starting to fray beneath his fingers.

“Hmm,” she simpers, and bypasses his cock completely in favour of running sudden-slick fingers over his hole. 

He wonders for a split second when she had found the chance to dig out the lube, but the thought flees his head like his breath, when she thumbs at his rim. 

All fight leaves Yunho then. 

He hangs on, gasping out breaths as two fingers worm their way suddenly into him. Her hands are narrow for her height and her build, but she’s still long-fingered and the sudden intrusion means Yunho feels them keenly. “Ah.”

“Oppa keeps wriggling,” she says almost conversationally, her index and middle finger crooking and scissoring inside him, “like a sweet little bear, trying to scratch an itch inside him."

Yunho stares up at her. 

He's less horrified than he should be, because she’s got three fingers in him now, dragging along his walls and trying to find that one spot. “Are you… Are you talking about the Jungle Book?” 

“Am I?” She tilts her head, deliberately inquisitive, as she spreads her fingers wide in him, making him squirm more. “Does that mean oppa is still in possession of his higher-level cognitive functions? I’m not doing this very correctly, then.” 

“You are the one who’s having sex and saying things like ‘higher ord-’” Yunho cuts himself off with a groan as she shoves her cock into him unceremoniously. “Oh.” 

She doesn’t stop, until she’s seated high and deep inside Yunho, lifting one of his legs over the crook of her elbow. 

Yunho keeps his other leg curled tight around her waist, and fights to get closer. 

Her teeth are bared and for all her teasing words, she’s sweating. Her wig is askew. She’s a hot and hard weight against and around and inside Yunho, and she’s not moving. 

“Don’t stop,” Yunho says, frantic, tearing at the lace. “Why are you stopping? Don’t stop.” 

He gropes for her, for them, reaching down to where they’re joined. Yunho’s probably burnt off the alcohol already, but he’s cock-drunk, slurring as he tracks his own fingers around his rim, bloated with her. “Don’t stop.

That gets a laugh out of her, and she nudges forward then, where Yunho had thought there was nowhere further for her cock to go. “Does oppa like this?”

“Yes,” Yunho gasps, as finally, finally she starts to move. Her cock drags against him, and the edge of his hole, until only the head of her is still in him. 

“Does oppa want this?” Making a moue at him, she darts a flirty gaze at him sideways, from beneath her lashes. 

Yunho’s struggling to keep his eyes on her face, because she’s making tiny thrusts, so that the head of her cock keeps catching at his fluttering rim.

“Yes,” Yunho gurgles, reaching down to his dick.

She knocks his hands away, and wraps her fingers around him instead. Her fingers slip-slide down his dick, slick and easy from the pre-cum bubbling up from him, until she’s thumbing at his balls and cradling them in her palm. “Does oppa need this?”

Yunho snaps. 

“Yes,” he shouts, pulling himself up, until he’s at an angle where he can push back at her. Yunho kicks his heel into the small of her back, and maneuvers such that his hole can eat her cock back up. “I said don’t stop.”

She laughs low at that, voice a growl as she braces herself over Yunho, and fucks back in, in earnest. Her fingers are brands around the top of Yunho’s thighs. 

Her breath is warm and wet against his cheek. “I like it when you say don’t stop.” 

“Don’t,” he says again, pleading and half out of his mind. 

She kisses him on the cheek, and whispers, “I like it, don’t stop.”

Then he’s being fucked too fast for him to recall what is speech. 

Yunho arches, mouth slackened and head thrown back as she works her cock in and out of him. The strength behind her thrusts shoves him up, and higher on the bed, even as he winds his arms around her shoulders, and hangs on. 

Her skirt is a rumpled mess caught in between them, and seeping damp from a mixture of pre-cum and lube and other things.

“Oppa feels good,” she gasps out the praise, even as she fucks him harder. 

The pillow goes from a cradle beneath his neck to shifting uncomfortably below the middle of his back with each progressive snap of her hips, before she reaches beneath him to toss it away with an irritated snarl. 

She has to twist to get it off the bed, which means her cock jabs against Yunho’s prostate, aided by the different angle, and holds

Yunho shudders, fingers spasming around her back and hole clenching tight in response. 

The duvet sticks to his skin, adding friction in counterpoint to her frenzied thrusting. Yunho’s going to come. 

She’s still got him by the balls, both literally and metaphorically. Her fingers are tight and too warm and perfect perfect simply perfect, while she screws fast and rough against his prostate.

Now they’re panting at each other, because she’s moving too fast for them to kiss, and her wig is sticking to Yunho’s cheek.

He spits out the fake hair draping over his face and stares up at her eyes, because even though the wig isn’t real, the heat and adoration in her eyes is

Yunho doesn’t know what she sees in his gaze in return, but she’s smiling at him beatifically, the slow revelation of her teeth belying the speed she is shafting into him. 

“Does oppa want to come?” She wants to know.

Her face is hovering just above Yunho’s, and there’s little beads of perspiration trickling down the slope of her nose. 

One drops onto Yunho’s lips, and he inhales salt but tastes sweet. He curls his legs tighter about her.  

She’s not pleased that he’s too sex-addled to answer her. 

Reaching for his nipples, she strokes at the already puffy skin on the left. She hums as she drifts her fingers about, to a long whine from him.

Nosing at his jaw, and across his cheek, she braces herself over him, Yunho’s legs folded over her shoulders, and her cock hard long deep deep deep in his ass. 

They’re cheek to cheek. The blade of her nose jabs against his, when she asks again, too soft and too civilised, considering what they’re in the midst of, “I asked. Does oppa want to come?”

Yunho’s mouth opens on a near-silent “yes”. 

She raises an eyebrow and slows, until her cock’s grinding deep inside him. 

Yunho’s not even sure he knows what breathing is, because she’s got one hand too tight about his balls again, even as her other hand teases, flitting light across his chest. 

Batting her eyelashes at him, she continues, “so what should oppa say?”

Yunho gathers what’s left of his wits and willpower, pitifully little, and ekes out a “please”.

His breath stutters out of him in a series of ah-ah-ah, with each drag of her cock over his prostate.

It’s enough for her. She smiles at him, disarmingly sweet.

There’s a funny hitch in Yunho’s chest, at that sight. That hitch morphs into a groan when her smile turns knowing, and she pulls back slightly to say with mock surprise, “my oppa is so well-mannered.”

She lets go of his balls then, to twist her fingers tight around his nipples, even as she roots her cock against the clutch of Yunho’s hole and comes deep and warm inside his ass.

He gasps for breath, gulping and loud, the pain arcing through him entwined in pleasure, as he’s filled up, and up. 

She hunches over him, arms on either side of his head, nose brushing against him, sighing in languid satisfaction. The ends of her sweat-soaked wig drape down and brush against his cheeks, the sensation damp and ticklish.

Yunho comes all over the mess that is her skirt, his cock spurting white against ruined red satin.




Later, when they’ve marshalled themselves post-orgasms, and Yunho's been made to brush his teeth and drink two glasses of water and had his ass cleaned out and himself cleaned up and bundled into proper pyjamas.

Later, there’s a sigh from over the top of his head. 

The chest he’s laying on rises and falls in a deliberate exhale, and fingers card through Yunho’s damp hair.  

“Oppa,” is suddenly said to him, in a soft husky rumble. “Oppa, you ruined my dress. Take responsibility.”