Day 18 · Sweet Dreams

You furrowed your brows when you heard the minuscule amount of rent your prospective roommate was requesting.

“Are you shitting me? This is a goddamn loft!”

“And this watch probably costs your whole life. Do I look like I need the money?” he flexed his Rolex, extremely annoyed, “I hate being all by myself here. I just need company.”

“Have you considered a pet instead?”

“Company that doesn’t need me. Do you want the room or not?”

He was legitimately looking for a roommate for the fuck of it.

Minho was an easily bored man. The main reason he was frequently throwing those debauched parties was just so that he could fill the empty space with some forgettable faces. Like extras in a movie that left before sunrise. They weren’t allowed to see the daylight in this house.

Sure, his hedonistic antics were fun to spectate, but it wasn’t long before they started to bring out the worst in you.

Living under the same roof with such a gorgeous man, one needed to have nerves of steel to be able to resist making a move on him. Diabolically charming, exuding pure sex, and clearly had a thing for hearing nice things about himself, especially his body. He was probably pushing all the boundaries of egoism in bed, but you couldn’t care less. All you could think about was the ten different ways you could make him cum with praise showers. A real-life demigod writhing in your bed just because you called him sexy to his face?

Now that would be a sight to see.

He knew exactly what he was doing, though. Minho was nothing but civil when you were alone, but came the night and your place was flooded with people, he was shamelessly eyefucking you all the way across the room. It was pretty much reciprocal, but neither of you was willing to make a move. The reason could be anything — reluctance to make things awkward, prevention of an inevitable mistake, or, you know, a simple ego war to see who would bend first.

It was during the night he wore a black shirt that your limbic system declared a coup in your brain.

Two buttons loose to accent the necklace he was wearing. Sleeves rolled up like an absolute whore. Beautiful waves of his hair falling over his eyes, looking all wet like he freshly walked out of shower. Tight leather pants displaying his mouthwatering thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. Dizzying notes of his cologne immediately sending a buzzing sensation between your legs. 

He just screamed fuckable.

And three drinks into the night, you said fuck it to everything and cornered him in the dimly lit hallway upstairs.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, charmer?” you slid your hand inside his pants, “I want it. Now I’m getting it.”

He sharply inhaled at the unexpected touch, which was frankly a long time in the making, and unwittingly closed his eyes. Your first skin-to-skin contact. As much of an arson-starter as he imagined.

“I fucking love proactive people,” he sleazily grinned, “Took you long enough, huh beautiful?”

His playful snark instantly melted into a delicious moan when you started stroking him, but from the way he was rutting into your palm, he clearly wanted more. He snapped his eyes open and refused to look away as his fingers found their way to your folds, slippery enough from eating him alive with your eyes the whole night.

“I barely touched you,” he chuckled, having an internal seizure induced by how you were reacting to him, “What the hell is this wetness?”

“Shut up and eat my pussy,” you reached for his shoulders and pushed him down. 

As if he was waiting for the command, Minho swiftly turned you around, and you momentarily found your back against the wall. His fingertips sank deep into your flesh as he buried his head into your cunt, licking a long drag with your clit as the final destination.

Oh… My fucking… God…

So there was a reason why those girls were moaning their lungs out. Minho seemed a lot more sober than you because his technique was fucking impeccable. Shallowly fucking you with his tongue, then slurping everything he could collect to go tease your engorged clit again.

“Yes! Lick me more,” you intertwined your fingers in his soft locks. 

The demon charmer was more than willing to oblige. He was melting you in his mouth one suck at a time. When he shoved two fingers inside to massage your walls, you felt a wave rising inside you, and the moment he started moaning into your pussy, it was game over for you.

“Taste,” he offered his fingers for you to clean, then quickly dropped his pants, “My turn now, baby.”

He wrapped one leg around his waist and slowly pushed his tip against your entrance to settle inside. Neither of you gave a shit who was walking by. None of them were sober enough to remember this anyway. You wanted each other, and you wanted each other bad. 

“Like that? This does it for you, doesn’t it?” he looked for an answer in your rolled-back eyes, thrusting hard against your dead end, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

He shoved himself even deeper while unloading into you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, trying to silence his guttural moans as much as he could. You felt his body going limp mere seconds later, a stupid smile raising those cheekbones of his you adored.

“Keep that in, okay? Come to my room later tonight,” he buttoned your jeans back up for you, “I’ll clean after myself.”

Minho was used to telling people what to do and how to do it. He didn’t really care if his partner for the night finished or not. What mattered was his pleasure. He would finish and tell them to take a hike. Aftercare was not his specialty.

But with you…

You were talking so much smack to each other that making the other cum had become a matter of ego life and death. After that first encounter, the aftertaste just wouldn't leave your palate, and you found yourselves signing an unspoken agreement of sorts. 

Needless to say, the ‘This is how much you want me’ pissing contest inevitably devolved into something much more twisted.

Another Saturday night. Another party was going on at full speed downstairs, but the hosts were nowhere to be found. One of them had a girl in his room, and the other was fully aware of what was going on inside when she knocked on his door.

“I got company inside,” Minho peeked through his door with an annoying smile on his face.

“This won’t take long.”

The second he closed the door behind him, you immediately grabbed him by his wrist and dragged him to your room, making sure his back was against your shared wall.

“You could at least try to find someone that didn’t look like me,” you tugged on the collar of his shirt, “You know what you really want is me, charmer.”

“I know,” he brushed your hair behind your ear, “I cum harder when you throw jealous fits like that.”

That wasn’t a kiss. A kiss would be a passionate interaction between two people. Shades of lust would be present. Your reds were so dark that it looked like you were trying to kill each other for how one of you was stealing the other’s breath away.

“Do you want your pussy eaten again?” Minho took a bite from your lips while practically ripping your pants apart, “Your toys don’t do it for you when you listen to me?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to.”

You were in the confines of your bedroom walls now. Not only did you not need to keep quiet, but you also made sure to let the nobody in the next room hear what this beast was doing to you. What he was not going to do to her. It was just a simple hierarchical reminder. Everybody needed to know their place after all.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful.” 

Minho left a cum stained kiss on your lips, then returned to his room as if nothing happened. He wasn’t above admitting that he sometimes imagined you when he fucked other people. He sometimes pretended you had enough of the push and pull and just raided his room to claim him for yourself once and for all.

Like tonight.

“Face the wall,” he instructed the brunette in his bed, “Call me charmer.”

When he closed his eyes, the crystal clear afterimage of you appeared behind his eyelids. Your scent still at the tip of his nose, your taste still lingering on his tongue, you moaning his name and calling him your charmer…

That was one of the fastest nuts he busted.

“Thanks,” Minho immediately rolled over to pass out, “Close the door on your way out.”

The more you slept together, the more the messed-up-o-meter of your relationship was reaching a whole new level of red. Nothing seemed to be satisfying you as much as Minho did. It wasn’t the act; someone else could do the exact same things, say the exact same words to you, but the impact was mediocre, to say the least.

It was the way he talked. The way he looked. The way he moved.

It was him. 

And one day, you crossed a line you had never crossed with him before.

The clock was showing 2:49 a.m. and you were parched. When you walked downstairs to get some water, you noticed Minho was passed out on the couch watching something. His slightly parted lips, his chest slowly rising and falling, thighs on full display through his shorts, and what looked like a semi-hard on… 

Fucking god he was so beautiful.

It was as if you were completely in trance. Your feet carried you towards the couch, and you watched yourself climb on top of it to nestle between Minho’s legs. You carefully dragged his shorts down, and once his cock sprung free to be devoured by you, you started salivating. What was he dreaming about? Were you there? Was he maybe dreaming about this exact moment where you pleasured him?

You wrapped your lips around his tip, slowly sucking on it while teasing with your tongue, wondering when he would start dripping precum. Your spiraling thoughts were riling you up even more, and unbeknownst to yourself, you began to suck him deeper.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whispered to yourself, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He was growing bigger in your mouth, and you knew this wasn’t going to be enough. When you started struggling to keep his full length in your mouth, you let him out, and the loss of contact finally nudged him to open his eyes.

“Someone’s horny,” he flashed you a dazed smile, “I heard you fucking one of your boy toys earlier. He couldn’t finish you?”

“Shh,” you got rid of your panties and positioned yourself to sit on him, “Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of both of us.”

You felt how hard he throbbed inside you. Minho couldn’t go back to sleep now even if he wanted to. The second he started sinking into you, every single neuron on his body was fully alerted, immediately pulling him to the conscious realm.

“How come you’re this fucking wet?” he contorted his face in delight, “Did you see me in your dream or something?”

“What are you gonna do if I did?”

He was wondering whether you had bewitched body parts or something. One casual touch would derail so easily, always leaving him wanting more. You could be at it for hours, yet he would still ask for one more round for the road.

“You’re my sleep paralysis demon, you know that right?” he placed his hands on your hips and started fucking you as hard as he could. 

That night was the first time he kissed you while you were cumming. That night was the first time you hugged him while coming down. 

That night was the first time you fell asleep on his chest.

Minho was trying to convince himself that his weak spot for you was strictly because sex with you was getting more explosive. Of course anyone would be conditioned to get constant hard ons around somebody, right?

Right?

The matter of the fact was your need for each other was getting out of control. The craving hit at the worst possible moments. Even when there were guest occupants in your beds.

Maybe especially during those nights.

It was the same pattern as when this whole thing started. You wanted him, he wanted you, but he hadn’t made a move until you took the ropes in your hand. Now you were questioning whether this was just great sexual chemistry, or if it could actually lead to something more. Were you supposed to make a move again?

Why were you always the one to make a move?

The stubbornness on both sides reached such a level that one of you was waiting for the other to break. To the extent that you would stare dead into each other’s eyes across the room while touching other people, whispering the exact things you wanted from each other to these random strangers instead. To the extent that you would take these strangers to your rooms while waiting for the other to say something. Do something.

Just… Fucking something.

You listened to how Minho grunted over that bitch in the next room, much louder than he ever was. He listened to your high-pitched moans that he could tell were fucking fake.

There was no use denying it. Imagine all you want, nothing could compare to the real thing.

Nothing.

Sex became nothing but a chore if you weren’t taking any pleasure from it. You were so tired that you decided to surrender to your heavy eyelids without even caring whether the man on top of you finished or not. Only half an hour had passed when Minho knocked on your door, but you were already in the middle of your third dream of the night. 

And when you didn’t come outside like you usually did, he took the liberty to come into your room.

Your slightly parted lips, your chest slowly rising and falling, naked shoulders on full display through your sheets, and what looked like hardened nipples… 

Fucking god you were so beautiful.

He knew this posture of yours. Fetal position, slight wrinkles on your forehead, sheets firmly gripped, and body all tense.

Frustrated.

If you were alone in your bed, Minho would let it go, but seeing that douche rocket next to you made his blood boil for some reason.

Completely instinctively, he slithered under your sheets and attached his lips to your clit, wishing he could at least make you cum in your sleep. He didn’t care what transpired in this room not too long ago. 

All he cared about was you.

“Minho?” you stared at the familiar shadowy figure under your sheets.

Hearing your whisper, he crawled up and started kissing you, a drop of pettiness still refusing to leave him. 

“Why is he staying?” he whispered in between his kisses, “Nobody stays. That’s the rule.”

“He’s just passed out.”

“Passed out, huh? Is that so?”

He pulled his cock out and slid right into your cunt, properly wet thanks to the delicious lines he had just drawn on it. His pace was relatively unrushed, but any harder, and you weren’t going to be able to suppress your moans.

“You’re gonna wake him up!”

“No, baby, you’re gonna wake him up. And he’d better wake the fuck up so he can learn a thing or two,” he sat up and grabbed your waist, still loudly whispering, “Did you tell him he could never fuck you like I do? Did you tell him I know all your hotspots like the back of my hand?”

He spat on his thumb and started rubbing your clit, forcing you to bite on your pillow to stop making any loud noises.

“Did you tell him about the night of six times, baby?”

“So full of yourself, matryoshka dolls are jealous of you.”

“Since when speaking my truth is being full of myself?” he bit into his grin, “We’re made for each other, and that’s a fucking fact.”

He suddenly got up from the bed and pulled you up from your wrists. Barely able to process what was happening, you found yourself in his embrace, legs wrapped around his waist and being carried back to his room.

“I keep waiting for you,” Minho spoke with his normal speaking voice while laying you down on his mattress, “To fuck me awake again. Why didn’t you come tonight?”

“I wasn’t aware I was expected,” you inadvertently grinned at him.

“Be fucking aware. I’m expecting you every goddamn night.”

“Then why do you keep picking up random bitches right in front of my face?”

You thought he wouldn’t be able to give a satisfactory answer at all, but this was Lee Minho you were dealing with. The guy with honorary degrees in being indirect and making life insufferable.

“To get you mad, why else? You’re so fucking beautiful when envy takes over you,” he softly bit into your lips and took position between your legs again, “Hold on to me.”

Free to move as hard as you liked, Minho completely unleashed himself on you, but this time something was different. With every thrust, it felt like he was moving some of his stuff into a drawer in your heart with his name on it. 

And you weren’t panicking.

“Let go,” he placed your legs on his shoulders and started hitting deeper, “Let go, baby. I got you.”

Maybe out of habit, maybe through conscious effort, but it was true. Minho indeed knew you, and you could argue that you knew him a little bit, too. You held his hands tight and gave into him, pulling him over the edge with you right after the third time you moaned his name. 

Your eyes were closing, on the brink of slipping into sleep, a blissful smile on your face, and the knots around your shoulders significantly loosened. Minho caressed your hair and buried his head in your chest, which was so unlike him.

“Is everything okay, charmer?”

A muffled grunt rose from where he was hiding himself as you kept caressing his hair.

“I can’t sleep without you, beautiful.”

Exxxtraoddinary? Appreciate with a pudding.

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