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skzficdump · 1 month ago

Text

Reps and Moans

paring: changbin x femreader

gender: smut, stablerelationship, he takes you to train with him… but the way you pant from the exertion drives him crazy

word count: 1.3 k (1295)

warnings: dirty talk, gym sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, slight choking, sex without protection, praise kink / light dominance

The city sleeps, but he doesn't. Changbin wipes the sweat from his neck with a white towel, his arm marked by the dim shadows of the hallway lights. He smells of fresh deodorant and warm skin. He's just come off stage, still pumped with adrenaline.

"Come with me to the gym," he says suddenly, with that crooked smile and his voice raspy from yelling during the encore. "I don't want to be alone."

He looks at you with that playful gleam, as if it's no big deal. But you know him. You know that when he says "come," what he's really asking is "stay close… don't stray."

Minutes later, you walk into the hotel gym with him. It's empty, silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. He's wearing a black tank top and loose joggers. You're wearing biker shorts and a sweatshirt, your hair effortlessly tied back.

“Let’s do something light,” he murmurs, placing you in front of the mirror. “I want to see you push yourself.”

His words are a warm whisper. Like a disguised order. You start warming up, and he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes speak volumes.

You keep up with him with light weights, squats, planks. Everything is going well… until you start to pant. The air burns your throat a little, and you let out a stifled moan as you stretch.

Changbin freezes.

He watches you. Intensely. Too long.

“…Again,” he says, his voice deeper.

“What?”

“That sound. Do it again.”

You smile, not quite understanding. You increase the intensity. And you pant again. Unintentionally, a little louder. Changbin clenches his jaw. He runs his tongue over his lips, quickly.

“Don’t do that.”

"Do what?"

"Sound like that," he says, and steps closer. He gently corners you against the mirrored wall, one hand resting next to your head. "Do you have any idea what you're doing when you pant like that, baby?"

His breathing isn't calm anymore. He's worked up. And it's not from the exercise.

"Binnie…" you murmur, biting your lip. "I'm just doing what you asked me to do."

"Not like that. Not with those sounds. Not with that face." He grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest, his voice growing increasingly broken. "Are you trying to provoke me? Is that it?"

Your body is on fire. He is too. You have him on edge.

"Maybe you do," you answer. Softly. With a smile that knows exactly what it's doing.

And that's all it takes. Changbin clicks his tongue. He grabs your thigh, barely lifting you. His mouth presses against your ear.

"Don't tempt me if you're not ready for me to make you moan with every repetition."

His breath is hot against your skin, lips grazing your ear as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh.

“You think this is a game?” he growls, voice husky, full of restrained desire. “You make those sounds and expect me to behave?”

Your only answer is the way your body arches into his, your hands gripping the front of his tank top. The fabric sticks slightly to his chest, still damp from the workout, the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, brushing his nose along your jaw.

You don’t.

Instead, you tilt your head to the side, offering him more.

That’s all the permission he needs.

His mouth finds your neck—hot, open kisses trailing down to your collarbone. His hands are firm, confident, roaming beneath your sweatshirt, fingers grazing the waistband of your shorts. He chuckles darkly when he feels how warm your skin already is.

“Worked up already?” he murmurs, sliding a hand between your thighs. “And we’ve barely even started.”

You gasp, the sound echoing faintly in the empty gym.

He shushes you with a smirk. “Quiet now… unless you want someone to walk in and see exactly how needy you are.”

He turns you to face the mirror. His hands explore you from behind, one sliding up your stomach to cup your breast over your bra, the other teasing between your legs. You see it all in the reflection—the way he watches you more than the act itself, completely focused on your expression.

“Watch yourself,” he commands softly. “Look how pretty you are like this. My perfect distraction.”

You moan again, breathless, unable to keep quiet this time.

He smiles.

“There’s that sound again…”

Then, like he warned—he makes you moan with every repetition.

Slow. Intense. In rhythm. Each touch deliberate. Each movement precise. Like a workout tailored just for pleasure.

His fingers slide under your waistband with practiced ease, and in one smooth motion, your shorts are halfway down your thighs. He doesn’t give you time to think—he doesn’t need to. You’re already wet, and the growl that rumbles from his chest when he feels it is downright feral.

“Fuck…” he hisses, pressing his hips against your backside, letting you feel the hard outline of his arousal through his joggers. “You’re dripping.”

You bite your lip, eyes locked on the mirror as he grinds against you—slow, teasing.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands against your neck. “Say it.”

“I want it,” you whisper. “I want you, Binnie.”

That’s all he needs.

He pushes his joggers down just enough to free himself, and your breath catches when you feel the heat of him, heavy and hard against your skin. He runs himself through your folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your arousal.

“Look,” he breathes in your ear, “look at us.”

You do. And what you see makes your knees weak.

The mirror reflects everything—the flushed skin, the dark hunger in his eyes, the way he holds you with such control. His hand tightens on your waist as he lines himself up.

“No turning back now,” he murmurs, and then—he pushes in.

The stretch is deep, perfect, overwhelming. You gasp, back arching against his chest as he fills you inch by inch. He groans low in your ear, hands gripping your hips tightly.

“Shit… you feel too good.”

He starts moving, slow at first, letting you adjust—but the rhythm doesn’t stay gentle for long. He thrusts harder, deeper, one hand slipping up to your throat, holding you steady against him while the other drags down to rub slow, tight circles on your clit.

“Every rep, remember?” he pants. “You’re gonna moan for every. Single. One.”

And you do.

Each thrust is stronger, dragging cries from your throat that echo off the gym walls. His name falls from your lips again and again, desperate and breathy. The sound drives him crazy—he curses under his breath, losing himself in the rhythm.

“Say my name again.”

“Changbin…”

“Louder.”

“Changbin—!”

Your knees buckle, but he holds you up, slamming into you from behind, never missing a beat. The mirror fogs up from your breaths, your hands planted on it to keep yourself steady. He leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder.

“You close?” he whispers, voice wrecked.

You nod quickly, unable to speak. He thrusts harder, fingers working your clit faster.

“Cum for me. Right here. Let them hear you.”

And you do.

You fall apart with a sharp cry, body shaking, thighs trembling. He grunts loudly behind you, thrusts turning erratic until he finally spills into you with a deep, broken moan, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

The only sound left is your mingled breathing, fast and unsteady.

He doesn’t move right away. He wraps his arms around you, gently holding you against his chest, kissing the side of your face.

“I told you,” he whispers with a chuckle, still out of breath, “the gym has its… benefits.”

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