Archive of Our Own

Taemoo was not in the habit of being struck dumb. 

It is not his tendency to be surprised, or ever reach a point of being speechless, without anything to say. He’s concise with his words, has many ideas, precise thoughts and reactions, and knows how to respond to them and articulate it in such a way that he is understood.

Yet. Shin Geumhui stands in front of him, in a simple, classic, well-tailored sleeved dress and a small smile to match along with it, and he somehow has nothing to say. His mouth is slightly ajar, but no words come out as he looks on at her, and this is what it must be like. 

To be dumbstruck, and reduced to speechlessness. 

It’s an easy decision to purchase the dress, and he tries to rationalize still, in his mind. That nothing else was quite to his taste, made Geumhui look unlike herself, too old or uncomfortable, that nothing else had been worthy of the price tags they demanded, that he could not let someone he was on a fake date with for the purposes of visibility be seen in anything less than the absolute best.

But, the true reason reveals itself, when the sales assistant remarks as she rings him up, “Truly a beautiful choice, sir.”

“Yes, she is,” he says, smiling, mostly to himself.

She pauses as she returns his card to him, and after a moment, she laughs, though not awkwardly, but caught off guard. “Ah, yes, your partner, as well. The dress was a perfect choice to complement her beauty.”

Taemoo blinks, swallows down his embarrassment at having admitted aloud how beautiful Geumhui was when it was the dress he had purchased that was being referred to, and he says as he takes his card back, “Thank you for all your help.”

Later on, when they’re en route to the restaurant his grandfather had reserved for their dinner date, she says, “Thank you for this, but you didn’t have to. I’m not sure if it really suits me.”

Taemoo focuses on the road, tries not to let his disagreement be too visible on his face, as he tells her, “It does.” He pauses, feeling his chest pound, for some reason, and he clears his throat as discreetly as he can when he adds on in as nonchalant a tone he can muster, “You’re beautiful.”

He feels Geumhui’s eyes on him, her surprise evident even from his side view, and eventually, she says shyly, “Thank you.”

He nods, and the rest of the ride is quite silent, not quite uncomfortable, but both unsure of what to say to fill the air that hangs between them, slowly shifting into something else. 

It’s becoming clearer and clearer to Taemoo, that he and Geumhui are getting much more comfortable, understanding each other more, and just being with her eases his mood significantly. Throughout dinner, she is genuinely interested in what he has to say, and he finds that he is the same towards her. She is interesting, charismatic, lovely, sweet. He’s surprised, at one point, when he had returned from taking his grandfather’s check-in call, to see her standing with the in-house musicians, softly crooning as she sings in as tender and effortless a voice he’s heard, “Why can't I love you in slow motion? Take my time, take away the pressure on my mind…”

He is not in the habit of being struck dumb into a welcome silence, but. There are firsts for everything. 

Especially in this manner, an exorbitantly expensive dress’s seams splitting open as she bends down to retrieve her purse, and a herd of employees coming over to greet them for their anniversary that isn’t even real, making him freeze for several moments, unsure of what to do. 

It becomes instinct to step in behind her, help her stand by saying close and as unsuspecting as he can be. Like a good boyfriend would, he supposes, in the way he places his denim jacket over her shoulders subtly, helps her put her shoe back on, and, not for the first time that day, calls her beautiful, even when it’s not her that’s being referred to. 

But, with the way her eyes light up, her cheeks pink and her laugh trails off softly as she looks back up into the sky, he finds that he cannot deny it. How he thinks that the dazzling display lighting up over the Han River just can’t quite measure up to how bright her smile is. 

.

It might be a little overkill, paying for the most expensive suite available in the nearby hotel when Geumhui says she needed a moment to change out of the ruined dress into her original outfit, but Taemoo is also not in the habit of doing things by halves.

He waits in the room, seated on the sofa overlooking the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Seoul beneath them, reading through his messages. Or, at least trying to, finds that he can’t quite drown out her noises of struggle, grunts and groans, heard from behind the closed door of the bathroom. 

He puts down his phone, unsure of what to do, thinking if he should call some female hotel staff to assist her and leave the room. But, before he can do anything, the door to the bathroom opens, and her head peeks out, searching for him. When her eyes find him, they stare at each other, blinking in time together, and eventually, she clears her throat, her cheeks turning a deep crimson as she says, “Taemoo. I’m terribly sorry to ask you this, but. I can’t quite get the zipper down all the way. Could you, perhaps, if it’s not too much, help me unzip myself?”

Taemoo blinks, his brain suddenly not functioning properly enough to process the sentence in the speed it usually operates on. Then, like a physical, hard tap on the brain suddenly moves, and he asks her, “You, um. Would not be uncomfortable with my assistance?”

She looks at him, and her cheeks turn even pinker, but she replies, “You’re fine. I trust you.”

And that’s not something Taemoo takes lightly, in any sense. He nods, clears his throat of a good deal of nervousness, and he gets up from his perch. He comes into the bathroom when she opens the door wider for him, and she makes to turn to present her back to him, but he says first, “Ah, let me just close my eyes. I don’t want to disrespect you in any way.”

“Then how would you find the zipper?”

“Ah,” he says, pausing. “Um, please just guide my hand to where it starts. I’ll figure it out from there.”

She doesn’t reply for a moment, before she eventually says, “Alright. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable, asking you to do this.”

“It’s fine,” he says, though he feels like his brain is racing and his chest can’t calm, for some reason. She goes to turn, and he closes his eyes. Feels her take his hand in hers, lifting it slightly, and between strands of hair, they find the top of the zipper together, and Taemoo feels himself inhale, unable to let the breath out. 

His hand doesn’t quite shake, and he keeps himself still as he takes hold of the pull tab, the silence surrounding them thick, heavy with tension that mirrors what he feels inside: trying to tamp down how overwhelmed he is with a want he finds foreign, a desire to be near, to-

He pulls the zipper down, slowly. Inch by inch, and he can’t see anything, but his hand follows the curve of her back as he zips her down, until the slider comes to a complete stop, and he feels as if time had been suspended, between them.

No one else in the world, but the two of them. 

“I think that should suffice,” he tells her, keeping his eyes closed, still. He pulls away, just slightly, but he feels the proximity in those few inches. He closes his hands into fists, and waits. 

She doesn’t say anything again, for several moments. Then, the “Thank you” that comes out of her mouth is soft, barely above a whisper, and he nods, and makes to back away, but.

There is a hand on his, and then, barely perceptible, but there: heat, and the whisper of a breath, barely an inch away from his lips. 

“Taemoo,” his name almost vibrates across his skin from how close she is, and he opens his eyes, and she’s there, facing him,right up against him, beautiful, close, too much.

“Geumhui,” he says, swallowing, trying to not seem too affected. But her proximity, the heat between them, building up underneath his clothes, makes it a little hard to breathe.

“This, this might seem weird, but. I’d like to try something,” she says, and her eyes are level with his lips.

He thought it had only been him. Affected. Charmed, overwhelmed, by her.

It makes the heat beneath the collar of his turtleneck build up more, when he sees that he had been affecting her, too.

“Alright,” he says. Silence.

Her lips brush his, barely a moment. The touch, electric, but like home, altogether, nothing and everything like the time outside the chicken shop and they had stilled for fear of being seen. When she pulls away, she’s missed, needed.

Her eyes look up at him, questioning, then apologetic when she receives no response. She pulls back more, and Taemoo does not want that. He reels her back in, hands on her waist, and kisses her, fully, pressing his mouth against hers and igniting his soul, and she exhales, melts under him, tilts her head back as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, licking in, and there is a fire, between them, and she pulls him closer, her hands moving up his chest, on his shoulders. 

He is not in the habit of letting go, and taking in the good, at least in this way. But Geumhui moans against his lips, barely audible, but he feels it fed into his mouth, and he takes it in, lets it stoke the fire in his chest, and he gives in.

His hands slide up her back, and feel her skin, between the broken seams, and then, slipping under the open flaps left by the zipper. She’s warm, her skin soft under his palm as they part slightly, breathing hard, air shared between them, and her skin is flushed pink everywhere and her lips are the slightest bit swollen, and Taemoo knows he must be the same. His chest warms at the thought, and he wraps his arms around her, lifts her up to set her on the sink, and he makes to stand between her legs to get his lips back on her, any part of her, but. They find that her dress, glorious piece as it is, is rather a snug fit and wear around the legs, and she can’t quite part her knees enough to give way.

He sighs, but is undeterred, makes way to stand in front of her regardless, but Geumhui groans in frustration, and reaches down to pull at the fabric of her skirt herself, hiking it up, bunching it all until the tops of her thighs, freeing her legs. She looks at him, and he stares, the heat running through his body almost coming to a tipping point. 

He had thought, on their first meeting, that she had a louder bark than a harder bite. But, now.

Taemoo stands between her spread knees, and her eyes don’t leave his as she reaches down, pulls his own sweater out from where it had been tucked into his pants. He breathes in deeply, lets her gather the fabric and pull it up his sides, and obliges her as she makes to pull it off his body, ducking his head and pulling it off his arms, and he stares at her, meeting her deeply-intentioned gaze, and he wants. 

He leans down, kissing her, moaning against her, and moving his lips, down her jaw, trailing against her throat, and she feels her own moan against his tongue as it’s pressed into the hollow of her neck, and she pulls him in closer, until her chest is flush with his, and the heat between them burns brighter than the fireworks had in the sky.

“Geumhui,” he breathes, hands on her waist, then moving down to her bottom. He squeezes slightly, and she squirms, but does not discourage him, She links her arms around his shoulders, and kisses his jaw, the words murmured into his ear, “Bed, Taemoo.”

He feels like he’s on fire, and he wastes no time. Guides her legs around his waist and lifts her up, tilting his head back at her touch and allowing himself to be kissed as he walks them out of the bathroom, and the short trek to the bed feels too long yet not long enough, all at the same time. 

She kisses him, her hands wandering down his back, her touch leaving a burning trail on his skin and he wonders if she can feel it, the way he’s sweating and trembling under her hands, even if they haven’t done anything yet.

They get to the bed, and Taemoo sits on the edge, guiding Geumhui to sit on top of his lap, and it’s then that she leans back, looking down at Taemoo with a gaze that he feels, enough to make beads of sweat roll down his back, his chest, and he looks at her, really looks. 

She looks dangerous, yet everything he wants. Beautiful, flushed, and he sees the way she’s looking at him. He knows, can see that he’s dangerous to her, as well. But, his soul is on fire, knowing he’s wanted, too, her hands moving up to properly feel up his chest, down to his stomach, her touch leaving another burning trail on his skin, and the glint in her eyes clear. 

But, he asks all the same, “What do you need from me?”

She breathes in sharply. Her exhale is on a tremble, and her hands are on his, guiding them, until his palms slide up on her thighs. He swallows, letting her move his hands up, higher, higher still, until his fingers slip under the bunched up fabric of her skirt, and he feels like he’s about to lose his sanity. 

“You,” she answers, the word murmured against his mouth, and this was not in the plan. It had never been a thought he had ever truly entertained, though he knew he was attracted to her. 

But the plan, in that moment, was nothing but secondary, and everything had become about giving her what she needed.

He surges up and leans into her, kissing her, licking into her mouth and tangling his tongue with hers, and the intent between them makes it more urgent, more desperate. He pulls down at the collar of her dress, down, down, until he’s guiding her to pull her arms out of the sleeves, and he latches his mouth against her pulse point, and she moans, tilting her head back as his hands squeeze at her waist, the pads of his fingers pressing onto her skin, the pressure delicious.

Geumhui pushes him back, and he brings his arms back to set his hands on the bed behind him, and he looks up at her. She inhales deeply, and on the exhale, brings her own arms back behind her, and reaches for the clasp of her bra.

Taemoo holds his breath. She undoes it, and slides the straps down her arms to set it aside. Taemoo looks at her, then looks at her, and he his heart in his throat, his body on fire as he takes her in, beautiful.  

Silence, heavy with their deep breathing, inhales, exhales, broken when she says, “They didn’t actually cost me anything.”

He looks up to meet her gaze, confused, “What?”

“And. I don’t actually call them Samantha and Rachel,” she tells him. Her cheeks are bright red, and she lowers her gaze to his chest as he takes the moment to digest the words.

And Taemoo, despite their current position, despite still very much wanting to get his hands all over her and hers all over him, can’t help it. He laughs, softly at first, then louder, in way that he is certainly not in the habit of, and he is so hopelessly, utterly charmed. 

“Don’t tease me,” she says, tone bordering a whine, and she reaches up to pull locks of her long hair to cover her face, her arms covering her chest, and he laughs still, but he feels the sun shining in his eyes as he calms down, taking her wrists gently in his hands, smiling softly to assure her. She smiles in return, though she keeps her face hidden, telling him, “I actually don’t do this often.”

“You don’t?” he asks her, and he respects that choice, but when the Geumhui he had initially met had boasted of her exploits, he did not doubt it, not in such a way that he looked down at her. But, she is gorgeous, her gaze captivating, and he would truly believe that anyone could fall under it, and under her touch.

“Well, I am the fool who stayed loyal for seven years, and we were never even in each other’s lives in that capacity,” she says, and he hears the sigh in her voice.

“I am quite sure he is the fool,” he tells her. Any person, who would not acknowledge her beauty, would easily be one.

She just smiles, sighing audibly as she lets go of her hair, moving her arms away from her body to rest against his chest, her palm flat against his heart, “Maybe. But it’s okay. I still don’t regret those years.”

Taemoo takes the moment to consider her words, and he cups her face in his hands. She leans into his touch, and his heart warms as he watches her close her eyes, humming softly as he touches her, their foreheads meeting and their proximity, more intimate than what a contractual relationship should entail.

But, then again, he supposes the last few hours have been such, as well.

“Me too,” he admits then, just between them. “I don’t do this, either.”

“Really?” Her stunned expression, genuine surprise, makes a smile tug at his lips. 

“I’m not in the habit of putting pleasure before work,” he tells her. “It has been my life. I did not like wasting time doing other things when work was always so urgent.”

“Hmm,” she says, taking the pause to think. “I guess that’s good for me, then.”

“Hmm?”

“You won’t have much to compare to,” she says, and her smile is bright, like a flower. “Who knows? Maybe, as it turns out, I’m not good in bed. But! You won’t know any better.”

Her eyes crinkle, and she laughs, her cheeks pinking. 

Taemoo finds that he cannot be dishonest. “You’re incredibly endearing.”

Geumhui pauses at the words, and somehow, at that, with her blush spreading down to her neck, chest, she leans in again, and kisses him, her lips softer, somehow tasting even sweeter, and Taemoo licks in, craving a little more. She inhales sharply as he presses his palm flat on the small of her back, drawing her even nearer to him. She tilts his head slightly to the side so she can kiss him deeper, and his hands roam, over her shoulder blades, the dip in her spine, her waist, and Taemoo’s heart hammers in his chest. 

He lifts her, Geumhui gasping slightly in surprise at the sudden movement and clutching on to his shoulders as he lays her on her back on the bed, and he hovers over her, and somehow, like this, everything seems to descend into an intensity, a realness, that makes them both breathe a little harder. 

He settles between her legs, resting on an elbow as he searches her eyes, and her gaze is intent, full of purpose, determined to make the most of the night. He breathes in, leans down to latch his lips onto hers, and she lets him slip in his tongue into her mouth, all of it so much. 

But then, nothing is quite as much as the moment she reaches down, undoes the button of his pants and pulls down the zipper, and then her hand is caressing his hip, fingers tracing the curve deftly. Taemoo tries not to let the way his breath gets choked in his throat be too visible as she steadily moves her hand down, her gaze steady on him as she slips it underneath the waistband of his underwear, but when she gets her hand on him, fingers wrapping around his length, he can’t hold back the exhale, the way his eyes close, the sweat building up on his skin, pooling in his spine.

But, two can play at that game. He swallows heavily, brings his own hand down between them. Pushes back the fabric bunched up around her hips, and touches her where she’s hottest.

Geumhui gasps, back arching, her free hand clutching his arm, and their mouths almost meet, an exchange of breaths as they move their fingers respectively, and Taemoo feels his ears burn bright red as she moves her hand, up and down, and he moves his hand in turn, a finger at a time, pumping in and out

“Oh,” she moans, and he gasps as she grips around him tighter, their mouths not quite meeting, just hovering and sharing wet breaths between them as they touch each other. 

There is only so much Taemoo can take. He pulls back, strips himself of his remaining clothing, and Geumhui is quick on the uptake, pushing down at the gathered fabric of the dress around her waist. Taemoo helps her along, pushing it down her body and off her legs, and he climbs back over her, her skin heated and smooth under his hand as he explores her. 

He reaches over to the side table, opening the drawer to find what he needs, and he makes quick work of it.

Or, he tries to, his hands betraying his clumsiness as he tries to rip off the wrapper and roll the condom on himself, and his chest pounds away in the true nervousness he feels. 

Geumhui notices, and she places her hands on his hips, and slowly, she taps at his muscle, once, twice, and more, and she tells him gently, “It’s okay. Take your time.”

“Sorry,” he offers, laughing at himself, but feeling a little foolish. “Guess my inexperience is showing.”

“I have no expectations, so you don’t have to be so hard on yourself.”

“Maybe, maybe I want you to,” he admits. Swallows heavily, “I have a reputation to keep. I did told you I was good at a lot of things.”

She looks up at him, and she smiles. “I just meant that you could do anything, and I’m sure I would like it.”

Taemoo’s neck warms, and the heat builds up even hotter in the pit of his stomach. He wastes no more time, gently parting her thighs to make way for him, and her breath hitches when he guides himself to where she’s waiting for him.

He pushes in. She gasps, her nails digging in slightly onto the meat of his shoulders, and Taemoo shuts his eyes tightly, barely halfway inside her and feeling immensely overwhelmed immediately.

“Ah, Taemoo,” she moans, and he feels her legs tremble slightly, “give me a moment, sorry-”

“No sorry’s,” he says, leaning down to press his lips against his cheek, trying to ground himself as well. “You’re not hurt?”

“No, not at all,” she tells him, and she hides her face in his neck, and she’s tightening her walls around him, and he groans, aching and needing to push in deeper, but wanting her to guide the pace.

So, he waits, his mind empty of everything but her, and his patience pays off when she wraps her legs around his waist, legs crossing on his back, and with the heel of her foot, pushes against his ass to inch in deeper into her.

Taemoo moans, letting out a deep gasp against her shoulder as he pushes into her fully, and she mirrors the noise in a higher tone, arching her back until their chests meet, reeling him in closer, closer, until there is no space between them. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, right into her ear, and Geumhui moans, pushing him back slightly, until she can get her mouth on his. He kisses her deeply, messily, holding her body close to his, and he pushes his hips even deeper into her, making her gasp into his mouth. 

The sweat rolls down his neck, his back, as he fucks her, thrusting into her in a measured pace as Geumhui holds on to him, opening up beautifully underneath him, her small noises of pleasure further bolstering him, making him drive in harder, deeper, his body lit up from within as she takes him in.

He swears more than he’s ever sworn in his life, he feels, in the moments she moans and tilts her head back, squeezing around him and sighing his name, and it makes him fuck into her harder, her name streaming from his lips as he buries himself inside her, again and again.

Geumhui moans, her hands reaching up to thread through his hair, pulling gently as he fucks forward and sinks in up to the hilt, his hips flush with hers, and Taemoo groans, feels it vibrate through his chest. 

Taemoo is not in the habit of being so overcome that he is rendered speechless, or even worse, reduced to a primal version of himself. Yet, when she pulls at his hair, just the slightest bit harder, when she breathes out his name in the midst of a moan, when she tightens herself around him, telling him, “Right there, Taemoo, feels so good,” he can barely tamp down the growl that builds in his throat. He lifts her by the hips, turning them over so she is seated on his length on top of him, and he swallows the moan from her lips into his mouth as she sinks down on his cock. He sits up, wraps an arm around her waist and guides her as she gets her bearings, her thighs quivering on either side of his lap, and she clutches on to his shoulders as she adjusts around his length in this position. 

“Baby,” she whines against his lips suddenly, and they both pause at the slip of the word, but Taemoo feels the fire that had been burning inside him grow even hotter. “Ah, I’m sorry-”

“You can call me whatever you like,” he tells her. To be called such, by those lips, makes his chest flutter. 

She blinks, and slowly tries the word out again, “Baby.”

He inhales sharply. “Yes?”

Geumhui stares at him, and Taemoo can almost pinpoint the moment he sees it. Her already flushed body turning an even deeper shade of red, from her cheeks, neck, shoulders, and makes him want to tease her, just a little bit. “Do you want me to call you ‘baby,’ too?”

“Oh, god, no, I can’t,” she says, flustered, and he chuckles as she hides her face in his neck, still sat on his lap. “This is so embarrassing, it just came out like that-”

“I didn’t dislike it,” he says, smiling for her and hoping it can be heard in his voice, and she whines, burrowing deeper into the crook of his neck. 

“Oh god, enough,” she says, before she’s suddenly turning her head, lips latching on to his in a heated kiss, and he hums against her mouth, knowing she’s back to business, determined to fuck him into the bed, and he’s more than inclined to follow suit. 

Taemoo tilts his head to the side so she can kiss him more filthily, and when she starts moving, rolling her hips and burying him in deeper into her body, he moans, head lolling onto her shoulder and his hands finding her ass, squeezing as she moves along. 

She rides him in a luxurious pace, taking her time and making him lose his mind, and Taemoo mouths at her breasts, her clavicle, and Geumhui clearly likes the touch, moaning and tangling her fingers in his hair, the nails scraping gently against his scalp oddly grounding, calming. 

“Faster, baby,” he says, and even though she had rejected the word for herself earlier on, she moans, and does as asked. She pounds herself down, moving faster on top of him, and she pushes him down to lay back against the pillows with her hands on his chest. Taemoo swallows heavily, unable to tear his eyes away from her, stunning and looking like an angel but feeling like sin around him, her pace unfaltering, and her hair falls to cover her face slightly whenever she leans forward as she moves. She brings a hand up to sweep the locks back occasionally, but mostly, she doesn’t bother, preferring to keep her hands firmly pressed against his chest, his stomach, or any part of him, really, as she rides him.

Taemoo rises slightly from the bed, leaning up on an elbow to help her with her hair. He reaches up an arm, touches the strands softly, but just as he’s about to sweep it back away from her face, she jolts back, her eyes wide and her hand around his wrist.

He stares, surprised, and asks her, “Did….I do something wrong?”

Geumhui blinks, and she shakes her head, trying to laugh it off as she puts down his hand and firmly back on the bed, and she says, “No, no. It’s just, it’s sensitive, so I don’t let other people just touch it. It’s, uh, a scalp condition.”

“Oh,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, and she leans down, body folding over as she gets her face close to his and murmurs against his ear, “I can think of a way for you to make it up to me.”

And Taemoo can, as well. He smirks, and rolls them over so he hovers over her again, and even before she can catch her breath, he drives in, hard, the sound audible even in the midst of her surprised moan. He sinks his cock into her, fucking her steadily, and the air is hot between them, their bodies molding together and no words are said, none are needed.

He moans, sinking into her warmth and she feels so good, wrapped around him and clenching as he plunges in, and her gasps and moans spur him on to go a little harder, rougher, and Taemoo had not been aware, that anything could be as intense as what he’s experiencing at the moment, that being this explicitly filthy would be so satisfying. Geumhui takes him beautifully, her mouth accepting every kiss he offers her, her body accepting every thrust in, every word of praise and encouragement and comfort he gives. Taemoo breathes heavily, leaning down on his elbows and bracketing her head between his arms, and he fucks her harder, harder still, pace building until he feels that there is none, the priority of release and relief the driving force behind his hips.

He’s in a primal state, it feels, as he kisses her and fucks her, and Geumhui is similarly desperate, looping her arms under his to cling to shoulders, her nails digging in and dragging down his back in a way that sets his soul on fire. He fucks into her, sinking in and splitting her body in two, and he breathes hard through his mouth as she moans right into their shared breath. Taemoo feels that he’s close to growling, and he brings one arm down, lifting her hips up slightly and making her arch her back into him even more so their torsos meld together, her breasts pressed right up against his chest and making him feel the way she breathes, chest rising up and down as they move together.

Taemoo fucks in, jostling her up the bed, and she gasps in surprises as she’s pushed up into the pillows, inch by inch, and he brings an arm up to press his palm flat against the headboard, groaning as she clenches around his cock as he sinks in. “Right there, fuck,” she swears, the words both sweet and forbidden in his ears as he hammers into the angle she likes, and he rams in, once, twice, and then Geumhui gasps, his name like a prayer on her lips as she comes around him.

It’s all it takes, a few more thrusts in, and he swears as he thrusts, grinding into her as he exhales and moans as he comes into the condom, the fire burning bright, brighter than it had ever been before, his body lit with the sensation down to his fingertips, each groan pouring from his lips guttural, truly reflective of a pleasure he had never experienced before. She moans along with him, holding him close with her hands pushing against his ass, encouraging him to stay rooted inside as he comes down though he’s sure she’s on the verge of oversensitivity. 

He had not realized how difficult it would be to not collapse, wrung out and so utterly satisfied it feels there is nothing left in his body to exert, and their shared breath between them hot and humid as their chests rise and fall.

“Are you alright?” he asks her, about to brush back her hair, strands slightly matted down by her sweat, but remembering what she had said, moving to cup her cheek instead.

She hums, her eyes closed and nodding in reply, and Taemoo feels similarly fucked out, though he’s sure he doesn’t look quite as graceful as she does, himself. Knows his hair is a mess, that he’d sweat too much, so much so that he feels that it had pooled somewhat in the dip of his spine, and his complexion shot to hell with how overwhelmed he had been. 

He manages to pull out with minimal discomfort on both their parts, though not without a little wincing. He wipes them both down gently, to which she had blushed until her cheeks were deeply crimson and insisted on doing it herself, despite him literally having been inside her just minutes before, and he throws away the condom after tying it up along with the tissues they had used. When he comes back to bed, just the top of her head is seen from where she had hid under the covers, and somehow, it endears her to him even more.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m embarrassed, leave me be,” she says, and he smiles, climbing in under the duvet next to her, though just leaving it up to his waist as he leans up on his hand, watching her. He reaches out, finds what he thinks is either her stomach, or hip, over the sheets, and he pats gently, slowly, like she had done earlier to comfort him.

“I won’t tease you,” he says, and she rustles under the covers. He waits patiently, and eventually, she peeks out from under the duvet, and he waits a little more, and is a little surprised when she suddenly moves, jostling a little until she’s curled up right against him. He feels her cheek rest on his chest, and she looks up from where she’d hidden herself, eyes bright, cheeks pink. 

“You’re not opposed to cuddling, are you?” she asks him.

He smiles, and slips one arm under the duvet to wrap around her waist, drawing her in even closer, until she’s half-lying on top of him. She squeaks a little, but doesn’t move away. She tilts her head down, hiding against his chest, and he strokes her side tenderly under the sheets, the tips of his fingers skimming over her skin. She squirms against him, and he chuckles, taking the gentle thumps she makes against his chest in retaliation, and he holds her close, taking in the quiet that comes after.

It feels like hours have passed when she asks him, “Are you sure you don’t do that often? Because, what the fuck.”

He smiles, grins, unable to help it, feeling very smug. “I would ask you the same thing.”

She whines, hiding still, and he embraces her fully, tangling their legs together and timing his breathing to hers. He glances at the clock in the room, sees they’ve been here for a few hours already, and he needs to bring her back home soon, but. 

He doesn’t want to. Just wants to lay here, with her, and just be.

He looks down, his eyes meeting the top of her head, and the roots of her hair look relatively healthy to him, if just the slightest bit darker than the rest of her hair, and the highlights, and he remarks, “Is it okay if I ask? About your scalp condition.”

She seems to freeze against him, and his chest goes tight for making her feel uncomfortable. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she answers, “It was all the bleaching, and dying. I’ve been doing it for a while, and it must not have been good for my hair, I guess.”

Taemoo looks at her, and tilts her chin up so she meets his gaze. “You’re beautiful this way, don’t misunderstand. But, if need be, I’m sure you would look just as beautiful with your natural hair too.”

The blush on her already pink face goes even redder, and she whines, “What is it with all your cheesy lines?”

“Not a line,” he says, and she hums, quiet again for a moment as she thinks.

It doesn't take very long before she says, “Felt like a real one, today.”

“Hmm?”

She exhales, and pokes her head out of the covers to look at him. Pauses, and rests her chin on where her hand had been flat against his chest, telling him, “You bought clothes for me. We had dinner in a nice place. We…did this. You say you don’t date, you don’t like wasting time on it, but. It feels like you actually know what you’re doing.”

Taemoo considers her words, and before, he might feel trapped by her gaze. Now, it makes him feel like light, a little more clarity in his mind. “I had a lot of help,” he admits. “And, it felt nice. Doing these things with you.”

She looks at him for a long time. Taemoo can’t quite read the expression on them, but her eyes are full of warmth all the same, and a small smile tugs at her lips. She rises up a bit, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Thank you.”

Taemoo blinks, but he blushes, feels it up to his ears. “For what?”

She doesn’t answer. She just smiles a little wider and scrunches her nose, obviously teasing him playfully, saying, “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

She kisses him again, and she gets off the bed, wrapping herself up in one of the bed’s many sheets as she picks up her clothes from where they had scattered over the floor. Taemoo watches as she stares at the ripped white dress, glancing over to him, then laughing, folding it up and bringing it up to her chest, the bag with her outfit from earlier in the afternoon in her hand, ready to get dressed.

Taemoo leans back against the pillows, if a little leisurely, and he smiles as he takes in the view. Beautiful, endearing, a little unpredictable and wild. 

He’s not in the habit of falling. Well.

.

.

Taemoo is sleepy, He always seems to be, these days, running after 2 kids, running a top F&B company, dealing with his eccentric family and friends, and keeping up with his wife, at work, at home, and with this, still good, still leeching all of his body’s energy, still all completely worth it. 

“Taemoo, love, please don’t fall asleep on top of me,” Hari says breathily under him, patting his side gently a few times. He hums, completely sated and content, and he pulls out of her, smiling as she kisses his cheek in thanks, and he collapses onto his back, groaning as his body hits the bed, so comfortable and soft and he can fall asleep, right then and there, fuck all about cleaning up and getting dressed, but he has the mind to at least beckon Hari to him, having done this so often and knowing her well enough to know she always needs a good cuddle, after. 

She burrows herself against him, sighing as he embraces her, wrapping her up in his arms, and their naked bodies are slightly tacky and a little sweaty, but they don’t move from their positions, content to lay still and breathe together. 

That night when her secret became known to him all those years ago, his anger, denial at being deceived by someone he had grown to be so fond of and affectionate towards had taken precedence, somehow, over all the good and wonderful and beautiful that had happened prior to him finding her wallet in his car. He had been the fool, the utmost of them, to have made her suffer over it, especially since even though he knew her by a different name, it was still her, and he and Hari had shared something with each other that he could not bear to share with anyone else. 

It was not like he had forgotten, how it was to be with her (a sin, of the gravest degree, if he had forgotten). But forgiveness had come slow, and Taemoo was determined to start over again, finally admitting his feelings were true and real and no longer wanting to blame it on what he thought was a simple infatuation for Geumhui. 

And he did, getting to know her slowly as Hari, earning back that affection in turn, and when it came to this, becoming intimate again, it had felt new, and like he was coming home, all at the same time. 

Hari lays her cheek on his chest, rising and falling as he breathes, and Taemoo kisses the top of his wife’s head, tired and in love. He threads his fingers through her hair, guided by the content hum she emits, and they lay there, silently, wrapped up in one another and never wanting to get up. 

His hands pause on her hair suddenly as a thought comes to him then. He hums, asking, “Remember when you said you had a scalp condition?”

It’s instant, the way she jolts up from where she had been laying next to him, staring down at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks. She hisses, “Taemoo, you said you’d never bring that up again!”

“I made no such promise,” he smiles, smirks, really, and he laughs when she kitten punches his chest. “It was cute, you trying to hide your identity even in the midst of sex-“

“Stop! Oh god, stop-“

“Even though at that point I’d touched every inch of you-“

“Taemoo.”

He laughs, and she groans, face falling into the pillows as she hides herself, and he grins as he pulls her by the waist, reeling her back to him. He embraces her tightly, humming as she makes petulant noises at him, and his whole body is alight with affection and love. 

“Hmm, back then,” he starts, the night blanketing over them, calming, quiet, “What did you want to thank me for?”

She pauses, and he waits patiently, willingly, lovingly, as he always has. Then, Hari pushes herself to sit up slightly, the look of deep affection in her eyes, a smile on her lips as she answers, “I did not know, before that day, that what I had been wanting for myself for seven years was barely anything I really deserved. I didn’t know, someone like me, I could have wanted more.”

“More?” he tilts his head, and the light is bright in her eyes as she looks at him.

“You,” she answers simply. 

Taemoo looks at her, and a tender smile spreads on his lips, feeling the same way about her.

He had not previously been in the habit of taking pause to feel the sun, and how it would save his life, at times. Then, he married one.

And the brightness did not flicker, since.

.

.