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When Jisung peers over Changbin’s shoulder to look at his phone, it doesn't even phase him. He didn't hear her creep in. She's a little nuisance, but one he's totally used to. He glances back at her, swiveling in his chair. “You mind?”
“Are you bitching about Minji again?”
“No.” He had, actually, been composing a text to Minho to take him up on his offer to set him up with a girl from his studio. The fact that the tone of that text might have been considered “bitching” about needing to get laid is irrelevant. He hadn’t mentioned Minji's name.
“Sure,” she says, dragging the word so that it's obvious that she doesn't buy his bullshit.
He puts his phone down. The last he'd seen her, two hours ago, she'd been crosslegged on the couch with her laptop, cramming some editing for her latest freelance gig. Either she's finished or she's grown bored of it. He looks her over; usually he can tell what she's up to. She's not covert.
She looks like usual. Like always. Short, mousy. She's his flatmate, his friend. Her boobs are so small that they disappear entirely behind the oversized hoodie she wears with the grubby cuffs. That hoodie belonged to him, once upon a time. He gave up on trying to take it back. Her hair is short because she gets fussy when it starts touching her neck. When it gets to that point, she calls on Hyunjin to cut it for her.
She's nibbling on the string of the hoodie and staring back at him, unconvinced.
“It was three weeks ago,” he says against her skepticism. “I'm over her.” He is. He even took a girl back home from the bar the weekend after the breakup. “I'm just horny, man. Maybe this makes me an asshole, but, well, you've seen her. I got used to it, getting to fuck her whenever. And now that's over, so I'm stuck without it.” Changbin hasn't been without a girlfriend for this long since middle school. He could try going out to a club again, but he prefers to have something reliable.
Jisung leans back against the edge of his desk. The hem of the hoodie crawls up enough to expose the boxer shorts she wears underneath when she scratches one of her calves with her other foot. The hair on her legs is sparse but darkly unmistakable. She hasn't shaved in as long as Changbin has known her. Doesn't shave anywhere. She has very little shame and he's walked past her stepping out of the shower and into her bedroom enough times to know.
The sight of her is sexless. He doesn't flinch. He forgets, sometimes, that she's not just another one of his younger brothers, same as Yongbok or Jeongin. They burp, she burps louder.
“Yeah, I don't blame you. Her body was bangin.’” She takes the hoodie string out of her mouth with a slurp. “Hey, you want to give me her number?”
Changbin lifts his fist in a threat.
She bursts out laughing, hopping back out of range. “Kidding, oppa, kidding!”
“Whoever is fucking her now is one lucky bastard. But I don't even need her specifically. Just someone.”
“So you got blue balls, or what?” She reaches out with her foot and lets her toes rest in the space between his thighs on the desk chair. The other sock, planted firmly on the floor, does not match.
He pushes her foot off. “Shut the fuck up.”
“No, seriously,” she says. Her eyes are big and framed by thick lashes. They're the most disarming thing about her, and the source of too many coffees that have come out of his wallet when he's not generally susceptible to her whinging or begging. “Since you aren't getting any. You must be all pent up.”
“Yeah, maybe I am. What do you know about it? I was getting it on the regular until recently.”
“You've had three girlfriends in the last year. And then there's all the girls you meet when you go out. You ever think that's not working for you? It seems to be a pattern.”
He holds his tongue. Doesn't snap at her. Doesn't say anything snide about the fact that she never brings anyone back here, so she can't make an accurate judgement call on his sex life. “There's nothing wrong with wanting something easy.”
She folds her arms across her chest. It pushes up under her boobs until the barest evidence of them appears under the fabric. “You want easy.”
“Or anything. Whatever. If I don't get a date soon, I'll go crazy.”
“Let me suck your dick, then.”
“Gross,” he says, automatic. His mouth curls with distaste.
Hers curls right back. Insulted.
Wait.
The air turns uncomfortable. “You're not serious, are you? You and me.”
“I literally offered to suck your dick. Where do you think the punchline is in that?”
He waits another few seconds while the color fills out high in Jisung's cheeks. Waits another beat, just in case there actually is a “psych!” coming.
His thighs slide apart on the seat. That, more than his own thoughts, tells him that he's considering it. He is hard up for it.
Should he take her up on it? She's never dated. Well, probably. As far as he knows. Admittedly, he's never asked, but he doubts it. She's never brought any men or women back here to the apartment. Probably she's not a virgin? She has a foul enough mouth when she talks about sex, but that's sort of another one of her teenage boy traits.
Even if she does have experience, she's probably not experienced. She can be scatterbrained and clumsy and that must make for a distracted and fumbling sexual partner. It's harder to reach a peak when the momentum keeps faltering.
But even a lousy orgasm is still an orgasm. If she is willing. She seems it.
“You want to?” He asks.
“Do you not?”
He's not going to turn down sex. No matter who it's with, even if–because he's not a pervert who creeps on his roommate–she's not someone he's ever seen in a sexual light. Maybe he sort of is a pervert, after all, if an offer is all it takes. This is something he's only learning about himself now. “Yeah. C'mere. How you wanna do this?”
“Like I said. I can suck your dick.” She chews her lip, flicks her eyes up. “Or…you could fuck me?”
Changbin does have a preference. “Yeah?” He asks to be sure.
She nods quickly, once, twice. “Yuh-huh.”
Changbin puts his hands on her hips. He has to get under the hoodie to do it. He fits his thumbs into the V cradling her soft belly.
She doesn't pull away, or shake her head, or say she was kidding, are you serious, you fell for it. She also hasn't stopped biting her lip, where the eyetooth punctures the corner white.
He swipes his thumbs inward.
It makes her shiver. “What are you waiting for? I'm going to have an old lady pussy before you get to it.”
“Charming.” He shucks her shorts over her ass. There's nothing underneath. She does own panties, cute cotton ones with dots and hearts and bows, but all of the waistbands are stretched out. He knows that because sometimes she dumps her clean laundry in a pile on the couch and leaves it all there until he finally gets sick of it and throws everything into a basket that he drops at her door.
She shimmies until the shorts slip down her legs. The hoodie drops back down over her thighs, concealing everything. Changbin rolls the chair back and lifts his shirt over his head while she goes to sit on his bed.
He's still in his office chair, hands dropping to the waist of his joggers, when he has a last moment of indecision while looking at her. She's an adult. It's not like he's taking advantage of her. He trusts her to make her own decisions, even if sometimes he worries about the decisions she makes. It's not like he doesn't fuck up sometimes too. He just hopes this isn't one of those fuckups.
They can weather a casual hookup. Tonight they can enjoy each other and laugh about it later on. He stands up. Walks over to her. Slides his joggers and boxers down without making a show of it.
He hesitates before leaning into her. “Did you shower today?”
“Fuck you. I showered this morning.”
It's not like he cares. He's slept with gym girls, where the benefit was two-fold: a built-in spotter and then sex after gym dates. Sometimes directly after. He's not opposed to sweat and he's not shy or precious about natural odor and taste. It doesn't hurt to be prepared, though. He knows Jisung. Sometimes she doesn't take care of herself. On bad weeks, he’ll nudge her in the right direction if she needs it, but mostly he doesn't give a fuck if the toothbrush doesn't move on her side of the bathroom sink some days. It's more annoying when she doesn't do dishes.
“Gold star,” he says, pressing his thumb to the center of her forehead.
She reaches up to touch the same spot as if he actually left a sticker there. Her mouth does this funny thing between a scowl and a smile.
Changbin laughs, then makes an effort to hold it in. He knows it’s evident in his eyes anyway, and she scowlsmiles harder. Alright. They can do this easy, an extension of their usual playing around.
He closes in on her until his hips are on the mattress. She makes room for him between her thighs like the time she came home from the clerk job she had for a single day, crying because the high heeled pumps she had to wear for their dress code hurt her feet so badly. He'd made her go to the couch and then he knelt down. He'd rubbed her feet with an “aigoo.” The heels of her feet had been red, blisters formed and broken. Her eyes were swollen and nose drippy, but she'd been quiet with his hands on her. She jerked and giggled when he tickled the arches. “Good. That's better, bug. Are you going to stop whining now? Get your ass back online and find another job. That one wasn't right for you.”
She did, and quickly, too, landing an IT job for a local bank where she overhauled their entire online system. After that, they offered her a permanent position, and they're lucky to have her. She's scary competent. Always has been, for as long as Changbin has known her, back when she was the little high school virtuoso that Chan brought around to a jam session. She also takes extra jobs on the side now when she's up to it. Editing, or production, or teaching kids to strum a guitar while they practice English too. All of it she’s good at. Some of it she does just for the hell of it, because it piques her interest or simply because she has nothing better going on.
It must be similar reasoning as to why she's doing this with him.
He lets her make the first move. She shifts back, not away, but further on the bed so he can properly get on it with her. The hoodie stubbornly stays in place over her lap. “Are we fucking with this on?” He asks, amused. He plays with the hem of it between two fingers. “Because we can.”
She pushes his hand aside to take hold of it herself and pull it off. It's bulky, heavy fabric that eclipses her form and almost requires a struggle to get out of. When she succeeds, there's nothing underneath that, either. He doesn't blame her for not wearing a bra. His past girlfriends have complained about how the straps cut into their skin. Honestly, his tits are bigger than hers. If he doesn't have to wear one, she definitely doesn't.
She's slim, neither particularly toned or ribcage-thin. There's just enough meat on her hips to make an obvious comparison point for how extreme the slip of her waist is. She looks even shorter like this, with her legs pulled up on the mattress. A petite little doll without the clothes or makeup. Though when he glances back up at her face, she's blushing fiercely enough it could pass for it. “You're still stalling,” she accuses him.
“Not stalling. Just looking.” But fine, if she wants him to get on with it so badly, he will. He gets comfortable, sitting with his legs out in front of him, and then guides her on top of him. He's not sure how much of an active role she wants to take, but this is a good place to start. They can both get warmed up. Explore, experiment. “How do you like to be touched?” Because it doesn't hurt to ask.
Her knees close on the outside of his thighs. She holds herself up, gingerly still keeping their genitals apart. “Does it matter? However is fine. I thought you were so horny that you were ‘going crazy.’”
“You're so difficult,” he says. He knots his fingers into the short hair at the nape of her neck and tugs her in close. Long enough for a breath or an objection. Neither comes. He kisses her.
It's surprisingly sweet. The chapstick she wears has gone a little melty. The tackiness of it is a magnet keeping them from drawing too far from each other, tiny threads of gloss connecting them together. She parts her lips like it's a shock.
One of her hands drops onto his shoulder. Slips down and cups the swell of it, seemingly unconsciously. Like she's caught up in it already.
Encouraged, he puts his hands on her. One on each hip, a frame. She sinks a little in order to get closer while they kiss. It's an easier angle for both of them. Her tongue on the seam of his lips, then sliding hot in his mouth. Unfamiliar but undeniably good.
She's a little needy, like he would have expected her to be if he ever expected anything. She pours plaintive murmurs and hitches of breath into his mouth while her fingers dig into his bicep.
He gives her a reassuring squeeze back. There's deep dimples on her back when his fingertips go looking for them. He hitches her, gathering her doll body against the bulk of his chest. Soft tits and soft stomach to soft tits and soft stomach.
It turns out there's a natural rhythm that they're a match in. Jisung moves her head one way exactly when it feels right for Changbin to turn his, their lips sliding apart and rejoining. He rumbles a little note in his chest to harmonize with her.
Abruptly, she scootches back. When she starts to reach for his dick while spreading her knees purposefully, he stops her. He pats her hip. “Condom.”
She chews the inside of her cheek, looking faintly annoyed at him. “We don't have to use one. I don't care.”
“Don't be fucking stupid.”
“Whatever,” she huffs, kneeling up off of his lap. “Go fetch.”
He grabs a strip from the drawer they're shoved in, tears a couple off and tosses them on the bed. He sweeps her up when he returns. She flails briefly, but he gets her secured back on top of his thighs. He rips a condom open and smoothes it down over his cock.
She doesn't offer to help, but she does watch. “Anything else, or are we finally good to go?”
“Brat,” he says, pulling his knee up against her butt to get her to move forward enough for him to start to line his cock up underneath the mess of her pubic curls. She twitches when he slides through her folds. The head sinks into her center. He doesn't ease her into it since she's made it abundantly clear that she doesn't want that. He lifts his hips and pushes into her.
She's tight. It's like her cunt is as tiny as the rest of her. It feels like puncturing, it feels like a punch. He has to grit his teeth and it's a near miss that he doesn't bite her tongue when she kisses him again.
She squeezes her eyes shut, but only for the space of a blink. He watches her carefully to check in. He’s still not fully inside; she has to hover above his lap. “You’re not that big. Don’t look so worried.”
Another sinking inch of heat. Encased, cupped like a lover. He needed this, he really did.
“Does it feel good, oppa?” She stares unnervingly down at him as she wriggles and does a little testing bounce. “Does my pussy feel as good as Minji's? Or Eunha's?”
The fuck–
“I know I’m not your type. My hair isn't as pretty as theirs. My nails aren't as nice. My boobs aren't half as big. I’m too frumpy and messy for you to look twice at. But that doesn’t matter when I’m naked, does it? Does my body feel good to you?”
The shock makes him tense up. “Hey,” he says when his tongue unsticks. “Don't be weird. And don't…don't talk about yourself like that.”
“I'm not being weird. I want to know if I at least measure up in something.”
Maybe he should pull out to address this properly, because whatever this is, it’s not a state to be having sex in. The thing is, he doesn’t have the urge to. She does feel good. It doesn’t feel weird to be having a serious conversation with her, even like this, because this is what they do. He has an awful day at work and she tosses a game controller in his lap and asks him to tell her about it. She vents when her mother harangues her over the same old shit, and he pats her head. They see the worst of each other. They don’t turn away from any ugliness, even if they don’t quite understand what’s going on. It’s support. Unconditional.
“Don’t measure up? Where is this coming from? You’re not not pretty, or anything. Did someone tell you that?”
”You did.”
“No, I did not!”
”Yeah, you do. Every single time you look past me, oppa. Every time you walk past me, you imply it. We live together and you still see right through me.”
“Look past—we hang out all the time. What are you even talking about? What does that have to do with finding you pretty?” He's getting angry now, and he recognizes that’s a flaw of his, that he jumps to frustration when he’s thrown.
Through all of this, she’s sliding down, making him open her up, slow but sure and forceful and unrelenting. “I’m just Jisung. Isn’t that right? When there’s actually pretty girls around, or beautiful ones, or sexy ones. I’m none of those. I couldn’t change if I tried. And did you know? I have tried.” She scoffs. “Of course you don’t.” She bottoms out. “Makeup tutorials or learning to walk so my hips sway. I've taken the advice of every listicle I could find. ‘How to get your man and keep him.’ Not Seo Changbin, though. Certainly not for me.”
”Jisung,” he says. A gasp. Not a gasp of understanding. Nothing is any clearer now. It's because she’s so fucking snug. Surely there’s no more room inside. She was right about his cock not being that big. There’s no way a bigger guy would have fit her as well as he does.
He glances down to verify that really was all of it, then he jerks his head back up immediately. She’s dangerous in her fury. He can’t risk slipping. They make eye contact. It’s direct when she grinds out, “You never. Fucking. Noticed. Me.”
There is no way to get a word in edgewise. He wouldn’t have anything to say even if he could.
“Hyunjin has small boobs too. But you'd never know it with the push up bras she wears. She let me borrow one, once.” Jisung squirms in his lap, getting her knees braced under herself. “Do you remember what you said when you saw me in it?” She doesn't give him a chance to recall. She clenches, punishing. It feels practiced. “You said, ‘Jesus, dude, your tits are out.’ And you threw that hoodie at my head.” She chucks her chin at the foot of the bed where it landed earlier.
Fuck. Yeah, okay, that is how she ended up with it. He does remember that. Guilt churns in his stomach, right alongside the arousal from watching and feeling Jisung, furious and magnificent and velvet on the inside. His cock twitches where she has it trapped.
She lifts up, excruciating, and holds him clutched shallowly in the threshold of her body, where it's ridged and bony and vicelike. She moans, head thrown back. Her little tits, heaving with her whole chest, are perfect in a way that he never noticed. Her nipples are pinched tight, the areolas small and dark.
“Last summer, I spent an entire paycheck on three lacy thongs at this fancy as fuck lingerie shop and then bought a pair of stupidly uncomfortable low-rise jeans to go with them.” She sinks again, slowly, dropping her sweet ass down. “The first two days you didn't even notice. On day three, I didn't bother with the jeans at all. Just wore a thong under that hoodie.”
He remembers that. Vaguely. She'd been bent over the sink, in full view of the door when he'd walked in. He'd kicked his shoes off and asked something like, “Why am I seeing your ass?”
She had screeched at him, red-faced and indignant. At the time he thought it was out of embarrassment. He hadn’t chased after her when she slammed her bedroom door.
“I don’t understand,” he admits, choked by the emotion of her hurt and the feeling of her demanding cunt.
“No? Yesterday I turned my vibrator up to full blast and laid down right up against this wall. Cheek to ankle.” She gestures out and smacks the wall, hard, with her palm. His bed is against it; hers is directly on the other side. “You didn't say anything. I guess you didn't hear. Or you're that good at ignoring me.”
He thrusts up, involuntarily, at the flash he gets: Jisung with her chubby cheek mashed against the wall and a wand on her clit. Thinking about him?
Her jaggedly bitten nails scrape against the wall. “Ah–Changbin-oppa–”
He settles back under control. He's usually better about that.
She glances down at him. She's panting harder. “Every time you take a new girl home, I have to go blow off steam or I fucking lose it. Thankfully Chan is good with his mouth.”
His fingers squeeze dents into the meat of her hips. His mouth drops open before finding his voice. “Chan? You fucked Chan-hyung?”
“Loads of times,” she says, gasping at the feel of his fingers and the punch in her guts when she seats herself again. “Felix too. Right next door in my bed.”
“That's–” He remembers a morning with Yongbok slinking out of her bedroom early. Back then, he'd thought that they had a late gaming night or something. Changbin had been wearing headphones the whole time. There had been some bangs against the wall that had shaken things on his side, but that had been them roughhousing, surely. Jisung had stayed in bed that morning, and Yongbok had smirked ear-to-ear when he'd waved at Changbin on his way out.
That little shit–
It must show on his face because she grins until her gums are visible. “No one has ever made me come with only their dick before him.” She grinds in a victorious little circle, pressed forward so that her clit drags on his pelvis. Then she leans back, far back enough that he can see the base of his own cock banded by the condom distending the spongy plush of her insides.
She almost loses balance and falls backwards. His hands balk off of her hips, but she catches herself before he can. She rights herself, still bending back, chasing the puzzle piece of the head of his dick on her g-spot. He puts his hand on her back to support her efforts.
“C'mon, oppa,” she calls, the same way she taunts him when they're drinking and she starts knocking back more than he does. Egging him on. “You’re not moving anymore.”
He flattens his hands. Tips her into the safety of them. Then he shifts his feet underneath himself for the leverage he needs. He pounds up into her. The bedframe rattles.
“God–yeah,” She gasps and does nothing this time but stay where he put her.
“Couldn't you have just been direct with me?” He asks her over the knock and slap of their bodies. “Does it feel like I would have said no? Answer me, Jisung. Does this feel like me turning you down?”
She whips her head from side to side. Her bangs flop over her face, sticking in places to the sweat on her forehead.
He's always easy for her, but never easy on her. He fucks her until she's speechless. He passes that point and keeps going.
No doubt the shelves of books and trinkets on Jisung's side of the shared wall are shaking worse than they had when she'd fucked Yongbok. The momentum builds in him.
He doesn't know if she's capable of doing it consciously, but she's still squeezing his cock. Brutally, in return for every thrust. He feels his orgasm pulling from inside of her. The crest of the wave. White, turbulent foam. It takes him under and drowns him.
He doesn't feel each pump of his balls emptying out because he's numb from his belly to his knees. His head, too. He's not being rational when he remembers that she was lax about the condom earlier and how that makes him wonder if she let Yongbok finish inside of her. Maybe as payment for the vaginal orgasm. Later he can tell himself the only reason he thought of it at all is because he doesn't like the thought of her taking the risk. He doesn't mess around like that.
There's no appeal to imagining the spill of his own come when she whimpers and eases off of his cock. Instead she gathers herself to the side while he takes care of the condom with his come securely deposited inside until it's safely, but wobbily, couriered into his trash can.
“All better? Cured of your blue balls?” Jisung jokes.
Changbin isn't up for her jokes. Not after all of that. He slides back onto the bed and nudges her over.
Her pussy is cute. Extra chubby outer labia, to the point that he has to follow the seam of syrupy drool and still can't see her hole. She's unselfconscious. She lets him move her legs apart so he can find the rest of her. The seal of her body parts to reveal everything.
Her clit is all hood, no head. Below it, her hole is slightly raw from being used. He goes right for it. Middle finger buried to the last knuckle.
She squeaks. “Dude, a little warning!”
“Sorry,” He says, hardly meaning it. He wriggles it in even though he can't get any further. Sure of it, he tucks a second finger in. Her heartbeat throbs in her clit when he curls his palm up.
Then he fucks her. Again.
This isn't like tentatively fingering girls in university. He knows what he's doing. This is fingerblasting. She's into everything they've done so far, and that's undeniable by the ballooned knot of tissue that'll make this that much easier.
She'll ache afterwards. He could do this more gently, but she doesn't need it gentle.
A blunt fuck in to the front, over and over until it starts to get sloshy. Her back arches, socked feet sliding across his sheets, unable to find purchase.
It's fast when her insides seize, forcing his fingers out. He lets it happen, pulling out the plug and letting her come flood out. He can't track how far she squirts. Her lower half is drenched, so is he.
But it's not over that quickly. He won't let it be. He slides his fingers through the mess until they're coated with it to find her clit and he frigs over it, splashing the wetness everywhere with his own vigor.
Her knees knock out, her second orgasm coming so hard on the heels of the first. She squirts again, droplets flinging across the mattress and wetting the floor below.
“Did Yongbok make you do that?”
She's chanting, “Fuck. Fuck,” throughout it, but it's barely understandable because her teeth are chattering. The muscles in her thighs are fluttering uncontrollably. He wipes his fingers on the skin there. “N-no, he didn’t.”
It's an answer, which means she's aware, but it twists to something else quicker than he can keep up. The overwhelm that her body is feeling takes over.
Her shoulders curl in. She starts to make these hitching, wracking gasps the same as when she's on the border of a panic attack.
Panic thunderbolts through him too because of it. “Look at me. Hey, look at me.” He pinches her chin and redirects it.
She meets his gaze, blinking her wet eyes until her breathing eases slightly. “Hey, there you go.” He pulls her in, body to body to ground her. “I didn't realize. I'm sorry. Oppa is sorry for being stupid. I didn't realize.” He didn’t realize any of it. That this precious, hiccuping thing in his arms was hurting for him. “I'd do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe. You know that. I wish you'd said something about all of this sooner.”
She's still shaking. The set of her jaw is stubborn against his chest. Stubborn, too, how steady her voice comes out. “I wouldn't have to if you weren't totally fucking clueless.”
He bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess that's fair,” he concedes sourly.
She harshly wipes her tears away. “You're such a dick. Why do I like you so much?”
“Don’t rub your eyes like that, what do I always say?”
“Gross. Don't sound like my mom after you railed me. Or ever, thanks.”
“Attagirl,” Changbin says, relieved by her attitude. He pushes her back far enough that he can really get a good look at her. “Are we cool?” He thinks they are, but he's not certain of it.
She sniffs. “We're cool. Dickhead.”
“Good. Thank god.” This next part is embarrassing, but he has to. He wants to. “I can take you out sometime?”
She freezes up, not stiffly, but like the worst of her shakes and shivers are over. “I'm not your charity case.”
“You sort of are.”
“Yah, I'll kill you!” She yells, lunging at him.
Changbin laughs in her face. “Seriously. Date, or not. Whatever you want. We should…we should get out more. Just us.”
She squeezes his arm from where she landed. Her body pressed against him again, still naked. It doesn't feel weird. “I have to get up and pee, but I don't feel like getting up.”
Changbin rolls his eyes. He gathers her up, bends his knees, and lifts. He walks her down the hall while she wraps her arms tight around his neck to hold on. He lets her down and waits while she stumbles onto her own feet before shooing her into the bathroom. He pulls the door behind her, because no matter how close they are, it's not that close.
“This Friday,” she says from the other side of the door.
He presses his back against it. “Sounds good.”
The thing is, it does sound good; Friday night, the family restaurant they sometimes go to when they're hungover, Jisung blowing bubbles into her drink through the straw, cheeks all puffed out. Her offering to pay for them both because she's flush lately. The store a few blocks away with the stupid blind boxes she's obsessed with, her waffling between two new releases, and while she's distracted he'll bring the other one to the counter, pay for it, and slip it into her bag.
He can give her more attention. As much attention as he's always paid to monitor the light in her eyes on her dull days and on her best days. It's not very different.
Effort that tastes like want in his mouth. He mulls that over while he waits for her to finish up.