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honeymoonjin · 6 years ago

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**this work is still mine, i’ve changed my url from ksjinandtonicfics to honeymoonjin

A/N: part of the Open for Business Collab as part of BSC’s Summer & Smut project. Check out the playlist that accompanies this fic here.

Escaping to Venice for a break from your strenuous job was meant to be simple. Go there, decompress for two weeks, and return feeling invigorated. But the soulful gondolier you meet on the docks in Saint Mark’s Square has you wanting to never leave at all. 22.7k words.

Warnings for sexually explicit content: an overindulgent amount of foreplay, oral (f receiving), fingering, body worship, unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms (m and f receiving), impregnation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, two diff smut scenes.

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Maybe it was his stillness in the chaos of the crowd that caught your eye. The way the bustling tourists and peddlers seemed to part like magic to allow you to observe him uninterrupted from the other side of the plaza. He stood there, calmly sitting on one of the posts at the inner side of the dock, reading an old paperback.

He was young; couldn't have been more than 25, yet he wore the oddest outfit you had ever seen on a man his age. Deep navy pants, ballooning slightly around his thighs and coming in snugly around his knees and calves. A baggy, squarish striped shirt tucked into those pants, and a black beret. You were pretty sure gondoliers were meant to wear those flat hats with the ribbons that you had seen the rest donning, but you couldn't deny that it gave his face a golden glow, framing the light brown hair and heavyset brows below it. Odder still were his glasses; rounded lenses with spindly silver frames, and a thin cord tied to the outer edges and connecting around the back of his neck. You had seen them before on librarians and elderly people, but never on a young adult like himself.

Picking your way through the crowds, you keep him in sight, observing the way he'd occasionally look up from his novel to check on his ornately carved gondola, as if he was expecting customers to just hop right on in. As you drew nearer, you can see a sign at his feet, propped up and displaying prices and rules, written down three columns: Italian, English, and what you recognised vaguely to be Korean. You let out a breath of relief. He did speak English, then.

You finally come to a stop directly in front of him, shifting your weight awkwardly, tipping your head to try and catch his attention subtly, but he seems entranced in the novel.

You can see through his splayed fingers that the ragged, yellowed book that has him oblivious to the world around him is Heidi. You could laugh at the thought of a man in Venice getting deeply absorbed in the world of a little girl in Switzerland, but instead it endears you to watch him for a moment, eyebrows twitching slightly in surprise every now and again, an unconscious smile playing at his lips.

You glance around the square once more, feeling a little silly, and perhaps even rude for just standing here and staring at him. Clearing your throat and waving your hand at him a little, you manage to peak his attention. "Hi, excuse me, do you speak English? I'm looking for a gondola ride."

His shoulders jump a little at the sudden voice, and he slips a delicate pointer finger between the pages he's on to mark his spot as he straightens up. You withhold a gasp when his eyes meet yours and his face is fully turned to you. Part of you almost wishes you never approached him, as you know you're bound to make a fool of yourself in his presence. His eyes are the smoothest, deepest brown you think you've ever seen, magnified behind those lenses, and while the majority of his face is finely sculpted and symmetrical, his eyelids are uneven; the quirk only serves to make him more attractive. There's a mole right under one eye, and another in the middle of his opposite cheek. Those small details take your breath away; he looks so stunningly perfect, that you're glad you spoke before really looking at him; you wouldn’t have gotten the courage otherwise.

He gives you an easy smile, his eyes narrowing happily. He's pleased you came up to him, and the thought warms you inside. "Of course. First time in Venice?"

You nod shyly. "That obvious?"

His lip twitches up. "You're wearing business casual in a city where the main forms of transport are boats and walking. I would go so far as to suggest it's your first day."

You laugh nervously, glancing down at the blouse-and-pencil skirt combo you had donned this morning. "These are really the only types of clothes I own. Anyway, uh, the sign says 100 euros, right? How long's the ride?"

He finally puts down the book; slipping in an embroidered handkerchief from his back pocket as a bookmark and chucking it into the main compartment of the boat. "Depends on how big the waves get," he replies easily, tipping his head as he looks over you.

You splutter. "The waves? Oh, I don't want to get on if it's-"

"Relax, uptown girl, I'm just playing with you. It's an hour round trip. Most gondoliers only take forty-five minutes, but I like to be more thorough, get you a real good feel for the city. And it's actually 80 euros."

"Oh." You blink down to the placard by his feet, then up to him. "The sign says 100."

His grin is different to last time, less boxy and open, more sly. He pats you on the shoulder teasingly. "Take the discount, sweetheart. In you get."

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to get on board. With legs wobbling more than a new-born deer, you gratefully accept his hand and shoulder to lean on for support so that you can step off the dock and into the carpeted bay.

Although narrow, there's a surprising amount of room; you look around as the man behind you starts to unmoor the gondola from the dock. The bench you're sitting on now is lushly upholstered, and even has silk cushions with intricate designs like something off a Persian rug. It faces you to the front of the boat, away from the man. In front of you are two square stools that are bolted down at the bottom. "I didn't catch your name," you call out, twisting around, feeling surprisingly stable amongst the rocking of the vessel.

He's standing on a platform on the left back, and you have to crane your neck up to see his face as he smiles calmly down at you. "You never thought to ask before getting into a stranger's boat. Oh, my." Your hands fly out to grip the sides of the gondola as he kicks off from the dock with a hard shove of his foot, and the boat begins to heavily cut through the still water. "My name is Taehyung. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

You give him your name with a friendly smile, then turn back around to face the front, watching as the golden angel figurehead appears to navigate the cloudy teal waters. You'd be quite content to sit here in amiable silence, letting the taxing strains of the job you'd taken a break from slip away from you, but it seems Taehyung is not.

"So, what brings you to Venice?"

A part of you dies inside. You hate small talk. "Vacation, of course."

He hums, unsatisfied with your curt response. "Well, I was thirteen when I came here," he reveals, and you're secretly glad you're facing away from him as you pull a face of annoyance. "A woodworker took me in to his home and taught me how to live like a real Venetian. I fell in love with this place; the history, the culture, the way of life. I'm still friends with his son, who's since inherited the family business. Strangely enough, they were Korean too, which, I suppose, was why the old man took pity on me like he did. It's a small world, after all. I owe him everything."

Your eyes are wide with awkward tension once he finishes. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? "Oh, wow," you state lamely. It feels wrong to let those words fizzle into an unsympathetic silence. "Could you tell me about Venice, then? I think the gondoliers are meant to give proper guided tours, right? Like, what's this bridge here?"

You point ahead at the impressive structure, though it's not like he would miss it. It bridges the gap of the whole Grand Canal, white stone that arched gracefully below, and housed a pathway on top that was filled with tourists.

"The Rialto," he clarifies simply. With a slight laugh, his voice becomes playful again. "Are you not impressed with my tour so far? Am I not living up to your expectations?"

You frown and swivel back around to face him. "I didn't mean that," you protest hastily, "I just thought this would be more Venetian history and less... autobiographical."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes are caught by the flash of pink, swallowing hard. "My apologies," he replies flatly, though you can tell he's not seriously annoyed, "I'll be sure to save my emotional tale of adolescence for the therapist."

You let out a surprised laugh, and he cocks an eyebrow at you, hands resting easily on the oar that he uses to steer the gondola slightly rightwards around a gradual bend in the canal. The strangely combative energy dissolves away, and you let the tension in your shoulders ease.

Once you settle back in against the pillows, he does as requested and gives you a very informative narration for the remainder of your tour. Important dates in history, facts about the culture, even small tidbits of advice here and there when you'd pass a cafe he deemed 'exceptional' or a restaurant with 'marvellous' cannelloni.

In fact, by the time he docks you back at the main square, you're reluctant to get out, handing over the cash gratefully. "Thank you," you gush once your feet land back on solid ground, "I had an amazing time." You loiter, not wishing to leave this experience behind just yet. Or maybe it was him that you didn't want to leave. "So, what are you going to do now? It's getting late."

He eyes you curiously, like he's searching for something, then shrugs. "More of the same," he answers breezily. "Every day I come here in the early afternoon and park up. I'll bring a book or something to do, and hang around in case somebody wants a ride." He breaks off to laugh at himself, tugging at the hair that peeks out the back of his beret. "Honestly, you're the first person who's approached me in weeks. Normally I just wait around until everyone else has left for the night and go home for a late dinner."

Your knit your eyebrows. "That's really sad," you state genuinely, "I thought a job like this would drum up a lot of business."

"Ah, I'm sure it does for some people," he allows, eying up the few gondoliers that still remain in the square, roaming the cobblestoned courtyard, holding up sandwich boards and loudly announcing their bargains for the day. You're glad you didn't choose them. They seem boisterous and tacky compared to the gentleman in front of you. Taehyung sighs. "I've never been a good advertiser, I suppose. The right people will come to me." He winks at you jauntily, but his face quickly falls again. "Ah well, it was nice to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your trip, now? Like I said, don't forget to use the Vaporetto if you're wanting to explore the city more. It's far cheaper than the water taxis."

"Thank you," you repeat. For a moment, you stay standing in front of him as he stares at you in bemusement, but you can come up with nothing else to say to him, so you turn around and walk away.

You hadn't slept well. In an effort to enjoy the fruits of your hard-earned wealth, you had eaten at an extremely expensive restaurant - a seafood platter and then some gelato on the walk home to cleanse your palate. You promised yourself that tomorrow, you'd explore some more of the city.

But the moment you tucked yourself into the plush silk sheeted bed of the five star hotel you were staying at, your thoughts fell, almost unconsciously, to Taehyung

The gondolier that apparently hadn't had any customers in weeks before you chose to follow your curious streak. You tried to imagine what his living situation must look like if he wasn't earning any money from his job. Certainly he wouldn't have been able to afford the luxuries you had been indulging in.

But then again, that was what you got when you didn't work hard. He had said it himself; he didn't like drumming up business. Your whole career was built on that determination, that drive, something that seemed to be completely missing in him. Oh well. That was his problem to deal with, not yours.

To your credit, you had attempted to venture further out from the main square, wandering around the streets in search for something to do to get your mind off him. But the stupidest things would make your brain revert back to him.

An old bookstore. You wondered if this was where he had purchased his copy of Heidi. A man in a striped shirt taking a photo in front of a fountain. You recalled the way Taehyung's was perfectly tailored to show off his neck and some of his collarbones. Even when you took the Vaporetto, the main source of public transport on the water, you couldn't help but think of how much smoother it was to glide along the canals in Taehyung's gondola.

You had meant to take the water bus all the way to the far end of the main island, but you found yourself disembarking at Saint Mark's Square. Your eyes sought out Taehyung at the docks, and an inexplicable warm burst of relief settled in your chest when you found him, leaning against that same post, nose in the book.

You took two steps towards the dock, then paused, sending a few disgruntled tourists knocking into you and walking away muttering. He had farewelled you, you remember. Wished you well for the rest of the trip and even suggested you took the water bus instead. He probably didn't want you to go to him again. You would hate to prevent other potential customers for using his services, besides.

The smart thing would have been to give up, grab some lunch and carry on with your day. Instead, you found yourself holed up in a bougie cafe, the Florian or something, not that you had paid much attention. Barely glancing at the menu, you pointed out a cold beverage and a scallops dish, then scouted out a good table.

From here, you could just make him out through the crowd. With the same black beret and glasses, and a somewhat similar striped top, the only real difference was that his navy pants had been replaced by bright red. Streaks of the crimson shade would peek out at you from between tourists, and your heart would give a little jump every time his face came into view as well.

A small smile played at your face unknowingly when you watched him come to the end of the book, presumably the same one as last time, and sigh, tossing it into the gondola morosely, before taking off his glasses and letting them hang from the cord around his neck.

You couldn't explain what kept you here, topping up your overpriced Italian soda, even as the waitress insistently offered you the bill. You were curious, that much you knew. Curious about whether he'd get any customers or not.

The moment he gets another customer, you vow, I'm going. As the hours passed, you really couldn't say if you wanted him to get a customer or not. It displeased you to see him there so bored, with nothing left to do but wait now that his book had been finished, and you were a little worried about his financial situation.

As other gondoliers came and went, some of the more charming ones forming lines by their concession stands, you saw Taehyung stare hopelessly into the crowd, eyes following all the couples and families that walked right past him. His eyes had drooped on the edges. His chin tucked down to his chest.

You stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the outdoor tiling. The waitress nearest you jumps at the noise, but quickly rushes over and hands you the black leather folder with your bill inside. You're too distracted to care, but the total makes you falter for a moment, handing over the cash with a hurried motion so that you can slip out of the shade and into the full blare of the sun.

Now that you were pushing your way through the thronging crowd, you had to force yourself not to break into a jog. Why can't I just leave enough alone? you questioned. Why do I care so much?

"Taehyung," you shout as you approach him, drinking in his reaction. He starts, breaking from his trance-like state of boredom, and his eyes slide around the crowd until they land on you. A boxy grin lights up his face, eyebrows lifted in surprise. When you come to a stop right in front of him, you feel breathless. "Taehyung," you repeat, "I don't suppose you have enough time to squeeze me in for another go?"

He scoffs good-naturedly. "Always time for you, uptown girl."

You can't stop the beam that stretches across your face now that you're back in his presence. He's addictive; a voice like honey and eyes sweeter than sugar. You feel a little dizzy. "My name is Y/n, you know." Your eyes widen. "Oh god, I did tell you my name last time, right?”

"You sure did," he chuckles, "but I like uptown girl more. Suits you."

You bite your lip awkwardly as his eyes roam over you in bemusement. This morning, you had swapped out your trusty black heels for some flats, but you had still donned a skirt-and-blouse combo. Having only work-appropriate clothes in your suitcase, you were left with no other option. Perhaps a more constructive use of your morning would've been to go shopping, you think. "Is it just the same tour? Or do you have, I don't know, different ones?"

He blinks at you, looks down at the gondola, then back at you again. "Honestly," he admits, "no. You're the first one who's ever come back for a second time. Most people are one and done, you know?"

"Oh." You shrug awkwardly, feeling a little stupid. "I guess just the same tour is fine, then. It's okay."

His eyes flicker up to the clouds without focus as he ponders something, humming unconsciously. "How about this? I need to stop by the squero to get that stool fixed," he points at the stool on the right half of the gondola, which you notice is on an angle, with a couple of bolts missing at the bottom, "so, how about I give you a real taste of Venice? Not just the touristy shit."

Something about the thought that you were venturing somewhere a little more... private excites you. "The squero?" you inquire, not familiar with the term.

His smile widens at your interest, and your heart jumps when some clouds part, and the sun streams down on him. He's too attractive to be in this job, you think. He's radiant. Unaware of the turn your thoughts have taken, he simply sighs blissfully and tips his head up to receive the warm rays, eyes closing. "The squero," he repeats, voice huskier than before, "it's just a district where us gondoliers go for repairs. In fact," his eyes crack open and his head snaps back down to capture your gaze suddenly, "I do believe I told you about the workshop yesterday. It's where I grew up. I hope you were listening."

You laugh reflexively at his teasing grin. "Thanks to your unorthodox methods, I think I remember that part of the ride more than the actual tour."

"Unorthodox methods," he muses, nodding slowly, "that's a new one. Hop on in, then, uptown girl, let's go for a joyride."

The workshop you dock at seems much like Taehyung himself; homely, humble, and impossibly endearing. Strangely enough, it comes as somewhat of a contrast to the rest of Venice, as the design of the building’s façade is closer to what you’d see on a mountain chalet. Instead of the white stone and tan roof combination that is seen throughout the rest of the city, this shop, and some others along the backstreet canal you were in, had dark, rough wood exteriors like a log cabin, and several small balconies with heavy forest green curtains and flowerboxes. The bottom level is the workshop; the entire front is a sliding door that has been pushed all the way open, and it seems the upper levels might be residential, for the workers to live in.

“So, this is where you grew up? Seems nice.” You don’t mean to sound ingenuine, but it comes out flat, so you rush to explain yourself. “It looks really…warm and welcoming. It’s different.”

His voice comes above you, distracted as he navigates the gondola to park right in front of the storefront. “Different? Isn’t the whole point of a nostalgic childhood home to be warm and welcoming? It’s where your family is, after all.”

“Eh,” you shrug non-committedly, “mine was more of a…museum exhibit on houses, or a movie set or something. Flat, cold. Nostalgia isn’t really a concept I’m all that familiar with. Or family, for that matter.”

Taehyung rests the oar on its forcola and steps down into the bay where you’re sitting, taking a seat across from you in the unbroken stool. He lets his gaze hang heavy over you, deep brown eyes fixed to yours. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he states with a serious emphasis, “for me, family is everything. I can’t imagine life without my loved ones.” You’re a little taken aback by his earnest delivery, more so when he rests a hand on your knee, the contact burning hot through the thin material of your pantyhose.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you reply breathlessly, “I keep busy.”

His mouth droops at the edges at that comment, but he picks it up to give you a reassuring smile and squeeze your knee. “Come on. I was gonna drop you off at the café down the road while I sorted this out, but how about you come inside with me, yeah? I’ll introduce you to some full-blooded Venetians.”

Those ‘full-blooded Venetians’ turn out to be two young men, vaguely Taehyung’s and your age, arguing loudly across the workshop floor in an endearing mix of Korean, English and Italian as the two of you enter, drowning out the light jingle of an overhead bell when you first step over the threshold.

“We have a visitor,” Taehyung loudly proclaims in English, and you grin at the way his commanding voice carries across the room, shutting the two men up.

The one hunched over a bench covered in wood shavings looks up from the chair leg he’s carving. His pillowed lips are tensed in a pout and he gestures angrily with a metal file at the other, a younger boy who’s standing at the far end with an oily rag tucked into some old jeans, carrying a pile of gleaming tools. As if in an effort to include you, the older man shifts seamlessly into complete English himself. “This kid seriously just asked me why we don’t just put the tools in a dishwasher to save him polishing them! Please tell me your guest is here about the job opening!”

You feel terribly small around these new people, and instinctively you find yourself shuffling closer to Taehyung, feet sliding silently across the worn stone floor. Taehyung reaches over to pat you on the back, then leaves pressure there as he walks you forward further in. “A customer,” he explains, “so please play nice.”

The boy, having been left out of the conversation for too long, dumps the tools noisily in a white bucket, making the three of you cringe at the clanging, then rushes over, skidding to a stop in front of you. “Jungkook,” he introduces himself as, “it’s an honour to have such a beautiful lady in my shop.”

“Your shop?” the elder asks incredulously, slamming the stick of wood on his work bench and standing up, brushing tight curls of wood off his faded blue tee. “Do you pay rent and electricity? The moment someone applies for your position, you’re out! I’m Jin, by the way,” he mentions off-hand to you, before Jungkook lets out an offended cry.

“So what, you’re just gonna throw me by the wayside as soon as you find someone else?”

“Oh boy,” Taehyung murmurs, grimacing and shrugging at you apologetically.

Jungkook’s not finished. “What about all the hours I’ve spent here, hyung? I worked my way up from the bottom!”

“You’re still at the bottom, idiot.” Jin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You never listen to me, Jungkook, and you’re not good at your job. That’s the base line of it.”

The younger’s mouth falls open. He opens and closes it a few times, before shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m not good at my job? What about that figurehead I carved for that customer, hm? What about that?”

“You’re meant to carve mermaids, or angels, or something like that, Jungkook! Not one of your anime girls!”

There’s a vein sticking out on Jungkook’s neck and you’re a little concerned it’s going to burst with the way he’s clenching his jaw. “Hatsune Miku is an angel, Jin! How could you even say that?”

“Guys,” Taehyung slips in tiredly, “I said play nice. Y/n here is new to Venice. I don’t want to scare her away because you crackheads can’t act normal for two seconds.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jin notes pleasantly, as if he hadn’t been deeply entrenched in a catfight moments before, “you said she was a customer. What are you looking to buy, then?”

As amusing as the fight was, you now wish Taehyung had just let you wait at a random café. It’s a little arresting having the full attention of three extremely handsome young men on you. “Oh, not a customer of you guys. I went on Taehyung’s gondola tour yesterday.”

Jungkook gasps. “Uptown girl!”

Your eyes widen and you snap your head around to look up at Taehyung, whose golden cheeks are warm with a blush. He laughs awkwardly, and in the back of your mind you hope he speaks for a while so that you can keep watching him at this close proximity. It’s a different feeling from when you’re sitting down in the gondola and he’s up steering. Taehyung tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. “I may have…mentioned you,” he admits sheepishly, “but it’s just because you were my first customer in a while. I was excited.”

“He sure was excited,” Jungkook manages to get out before Jin whacks him on the back of the head. “Ow! Hey! Anyway, it’s nice to get to meet you. You guys going on a date now or what?” Another hit has Jungkook lashing out at Jin with an angry frown, but the elder just widens his eyes meaningfully at him.

You splutter. “N-No, I just wanted another ride, that’s all.” Jungkook cackles, and this time even Jin can’t defend your honour. “God, I’m sorry, that was poor phrasing. Pun not intended.”

"Anyway," Taehyung continues, "I'm really here because one of my stools is coming loose, I need you to check out the bolts and tighten them up. Would you mind making sure that the wood underneath hasn't scratched too?"

Jungkook frowns. "This isn't about you, hyung. Keep your head in the game." He turns to you as Jin huffs and double-checks the tool belt hanging low on his hips, before heading out the front of the shop. Now without the presence of his boss, Jungkook shifts his weight to one side and gives you a once-over. "Y/n, right? What are your intentions with my brother?"

Your mind goes blank as you stare at the young man. "A...gondola ride? Around the canals? As his service offers?"

Jungkook purses his lips and narrows his eyes, staying silent for a moment, before the tension dissipates and he gives you a wide grin. "Excellent! Now, here are the basics: Taehyung enjoys photography, pasta, and long walks on the beach. He's an excellent swimmer and he knows how to play the saxophone although I accidentally dropped his in the canal once and he can't afford to buy another one, so he's probably a little rusty. He's good with money, but can be a little forgetful, he believes in love at first sight and wants three kids: a boy and two girls. Hyung, did I miss anything?"

You're pretty sure your mouth is hanging open, but you can't think to close it. Taehyung's eyebrows are raised in exasperation and surprise. "Kookie, no wonder you don't have a girlfriend. That's too far."

"Yeah, because I'm too busy advertising you! You're a hard sell, buddy, you know that?" Jungkook sends him a quick thumbs up before scampering away, thumping his way up a set of stairs at the far end of the room.

Taehyung sighs and collapses down at the workbench Jin was previously at, lazily pushing some wood shavings into a little pile with a finger. "Man, I'm sorry about him. He can get a little overexcited sometimes. Don't take anything he said seriously."

You already feel more comfortable now that it's just the two of you in the room, even though you can hear distant videogame gunshots from upstairs and Jin singing to himself as he worked on the gondola outside. With a sly grin, you ask, "oh, so you don't know how to play the saxophone? I knew it, I pinned you as more of a kazoo type anyway."

He chuckles, relieved that you're not too weirded out by the confronting conversation. "No, he was telling the truth about that. I studied in my spare time for almost six years while I had that old saxophone. It was second hand, and I would always imagine myself standing on a great big stage, like Carnegie Hall or something, giving this old instrument a new life." He scoffs good-naturedly at his own words, and stares down at his hands. "Sorry, in case you haven't noticed I'm a bit of a sop. Hopeless romantic, if you want to phrase it nicer."

Your eyes linger on the delicate arch of his neck, the veins in the backs of his hands, the mole on his cheek, the strong brows. Your voice is so soft it barely reaches him. "There's nothing hopeless about you."

He looks up in mild surprise, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. You lick your lip subconsciously, feeling as usual the way your heart raced when his eyes were on you. You think you catch them flickering down to watch the movement, but at this distance you can't be sure. You wish you were standing closer. "Y/n," he utters softly, and you realize with a bolt of excitement up your spine that it's the first time he's directly addressed you by name, "how long are you staying in Venice?" His eyes are glimmering, even in the relatively dim light of the workshop, hopeful smile playing at his lips.

Oh. You wish you had a better answer to give him than the truth. You’ve only met him twice, but you already hate the thought of leaving him and returning to your normal life. "Two weeks," you reply a little louder than needed, wanting to disperse a little of that weird electricity in the air. "Well, only eleven more days now."

He nods slowly, face falling. His gaze is directed towards you, but distant, like he's seeing right through you. You don't like it. "Well, then, if you ever have nothing to do one day, you know where I'll be."

You give him a grateful smile, then gasp, shoving your hand in your purse. "Wait, that reminds me, here's your eighty euros for the ri-"

"Keep it," he mumbles with a slightly pained smile. "I can't take money from you for coming with me while I do my own errands. I didn't realize it would take this long, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you protest reflexively, uneasy at the way his disposition had suddenly become so gloomy. The singing outside has stopped, and a quick glance shows Jin packing up his tools and disembarking the gondola. "I had fun today, Taehyung. Thank you." You bite your tongue, holding back the words you were about to foolishly say. Besides, you need the money more than I do.

He nods, then blinks out of his haze when the bell jingles to signify Jin's arrival. "What's the damage?" Taehyung asks, his voice perfectly chipper and a world removed from the sullen tone you had just received. Still, something in his expression remains sad, and you can't help but feel guilty, wondering if you had some part to play in his strange behaviour.

The way Jin's eyebrows narrow tells you he's picked up on Taehyung's glum mood, but he doesn't bring it up. "Don't worry about it, Tae. You know we won't charge you."

He hums gratefully, then stands up, rolling his shoulders. "Thanks, hyung. I appreciate it. Anyway, I need to go drop Y/n off back at Saint Mark's, so I probably won't come back here before I go home."

Over Taehyung's shoulder, Jin frowns at you meaningfully, eyes soft with concern for his friend. You wave a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's okay, you don't have to do that. I was actually going to suggest I could walk back. You know, use the chance to explore a little more of Venice."

"Ah, good idea," Jin says loudly, giving you a grateful smile. "Taehyung, why don't you stay for dinner?"

The young man fixes you an unsure glance, so you just give him a quick wave, and turn around to leave. He doesn't protest.

Your third day sees you pounding the pavement, determined to spend your time thinking about something other than Taehyung's strange attitude the other day. You fully plan on going back to Saint Mark's Square at some point, to give him his eighty euros if nothing else, but for now you get the Vaporetto to drop you off at one far end of the city, aimlessly wandering through streets to find your way back.

It's a nice way to spend your morning, and the fresh air is a welcome change from the stuffy, perfumed rooms of the hotel you were staying at. In fact, last night you had found the hotel more suffocating than ever; like those perfectly wallpapered walls were gradually getting closer and closer together when you weren't looking.

For the first time since stepping foot in Venice, you had even entered some of the stores you passed. Picking up some souvenirs to put on your work desk when you returned, a pair of overpriced yet insanely comfortable kitten heels, and some romance books you had found in a bargain bin in this tiny bookstore down a dark alley, you were feeling happy with your purchases, but more than ready to make your way back to your hotel room and ease the strain of the bag handles pulling heavily at your forearms. With the help of Google Maps, you managed to find a street you recognised, one that led directly on to your hotel.

Putting your phone away, you simply let yourself enjoy all of your senses being overwhelmed by this new place. Although you were walking along a stone road, you could smell the salt of the canal that ran parallel to it, behind the buildings on your left side. Upon your initial arrival, you had turned your nose up at it, quite literally. It wasn't the fresh and clean salt smell of the sea, but was tainted with inner city living, the litter from passers-by and the petrol from boat engines. It had felt like an illusion broken, but now you were beginning to get used to it, to appreciate the story that brackish water told.

As you strolled, your reflection in the gleaming glass panes of the storefronts strolled with you, and you found yourself turning your head every so often to get a glance at it. Was it the romance in the air, or did this version of you look a little taller? A little brighter, a little less run-down? No more than two and a half days here, and you were already dreading your inevitable return to the monotonous trudge of your working life.

A sudden, metallic glare cuts right into your retinas and you squint, pausing in the street. The shop you stand across is unbelievably old, more so that its worn companions beside it. Paint flakes away from the wooden sign, so that the cursive Venetian Antiques can barely be deciphered. The main window, presumably the cream of the crop to draw in customers, is mostly filled with vases of delicately blown glass and figurines carved with rich dark woods, but right in the middle, on a purple velvet cushion corded with gold, lies a saxophone, slightly beaten in on one side but polished to gleaming perfection, sporting a small paper tag tied around one of the keys. Jumping out of the way of a small boy running recklessly down the street without shoes, you take the hint to stop standing in the middle of the path, and walk right up to the glass. Now that you're near enough, you can rise up on the tips of your toes to catch a glimpse at the price, scrawled with an extremely curlicued dollar sign. $850. You just about stumble straight into the glass when you read it. Holy fucking shit! No wonder he couldn't afford a new one at that cost, and this one was second-hand too.

A jingle of a bell catches your attention, and you pull your gaze to the side, where an old man pokes his head out, tugging unconsciously at the end of his greying beard. "In che posso servirLa?"

Your eyes widen as you blink at him. “Sorry, I don’t…”

He smiles good-naturedly, ruddy cheeks lifting to crinkle the corner of his eyes. "I asked," he translates in a thick Italian accent, "how I could help you. Do you need help?"

"Oh." You smile gratefully then look back at the saxophone. You should just walk away. It's stupid... "Is this price negotiable?"

"The saxophone?" He grins. "Of course, I am Italian. Come inside, signorina."

The antiques store is musty as all others are, but instead of feeling cramped and stuffed with useless unwanted items, something about it seems magical, romantic. As the old man reaches into the display case to pull out the instrument, you wander around the main bay of the store, looking over the offerings. A tall bookcase closer to the back of the shop, just beside the counter, holds rows and rows of worn paperbacks, some with rubber bands just to hold them in one piece. You wonder if this was where Taehyung brought Heidi. You wonder why all your thoughts lead back to Taehyung these days.

The voice approaching you from behind knocks you out of your musings. "A beautiful instrument, the saxophone. How long have you played?"

"Oh, I," you bite your lip as he walks around and rests it gently on the countertop. Why were you even looking at it? "I wanted to maybe buy it as a gift for a... a friend."

"A friend?" he repeats, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. "For just a friend, this is six hundred euros, but for a lover... four-fifty. We are in Venice, after all."

You splutter and flush, but he takes no notice other than to grin salaciously at you. "I don't have that much cash on me," you admit.

He scoffs heartily and bends down to rummage below the counter, returning with a small wireless machine. "Then it is so good for you that we live in the 21st Century and not the Dark Ages, hm? €450?"

I can still back out, the rational voice in the back of your mind screams. This is stupid, and it would blow your entire Christmas bonus from last year that you had taken such care to save. But you found yourself handing over your credit card nonetheless, feeling your heart race as he went into a back room to fetch the case and accompanying materials.

Your arm muscles scream every step back to your hotel, but for some reason even that doesn't stop you from smiling giddily the whole way.

"You're back, uptown girl!"

The fact that he noticed you before you got the chance to call out to him, as well as the use of your nickname again, has your spirits peaking immediately. You beam like a child on their birthday and nod. "Here," you state quickly, thrusting your clenched fist out to him, several paper notes sticking out, "the eighty euros for the trip yesterday."

He raises a brow at you, working his jaw, before sighing in bemused exasperation and gratefully accepting the cash. "I forgot to tell you something yesterday..."

You blink up at him. "What?"

"I have a lucrative buy-two-get-one-free deal going."

You could laugh at the deadpan expression on his face, but instead you just smile widely. "Oh, really? I thought you never got repeat customers?"

He shoots you a warning look, wry smile tugging at his lips. "Hence why I forgot to tell you earlier. Come on in, then, let's go!"

You have to appreciate his enthusiasm, and you can't pretend like you're not thrilled at the fact that he clearly wants you around. This time, when you hop into the gondola, you sit on the newly repaired stool instead of the upholstered couch. This way, you can face him head-on. Once he stands in position and glances down at you, he laughs quietly and shakes his head.

"You're meant to be enjoying the view," he advises, waving a hand out in front of him.

You don't waver. "I am."

Taking a ride while facing the wrong way is dangerous enough in a train or campervan. Here, on the gently bobbing water, it's hellish. Of course, you don't let him know that, though you're sure he's noticed the death grip you have on the curved wood sides of the boat. Taehyung himself glides as smoothly as ever, parting the water with a steady hand on the oar, occasionally stretching a leg out to kick off a wall that approaches too closely, but now that you can no longer see what's ahead, every slight judder or turn has your stomach sloshing more so than the canal water itself.

It's worth it, though, to be able to gaze upon his profile as the slowly setting sun lights it up in a rich bronze glow, sharp jaw casting shadows on the column of his neck. You can almost forget the way your heart bobs in your chest to match the gondola when you let yourself drown in Taehyung. "You know," you point out casually about fifteen minutes into your ride, "I've gone past some other gondolas who have been singing. Can't you sing for me?"

He huffs out his nose with an incredulous smile. "The man that raised me once told me, ‘never fall in love with a woman, son. They're never satisfied.’"

"I can be satisfied," you think softly, and it's not until he looks down at you sharply in surprise that you realise you spoke aloud. "I'm sure you have a beautiful voice."

His eyes waver at the clarification, the smile faltering. "The singing," he muses, "yes, I suppose I do. Alright, then."

You're glad that you chose to suffer the motion sickness of the gliding gondola, because nothing could be better than those next forty-odd minutes. He has the voice of an angel to match that face of his, and you find yourself totally speechless. The first song is quiet, like he's unsure; more of a whisper than a melody. His eyes keep darting to you and away, but your reassurance once he's finished that it was truly magical has his confidence growing. The songs aren't all the same either; he mixes traditional Italian love songs with hauntingly beautiful Korean ballads; powerful opera with a sweet lullaby he remembered his mother singing to him as a baby.

When he pulls up back at that familiar dock, you don't want to acknowledge it. Don't want to leave at all. You stay motionless, sat on the stool as you stare up at him in wonder.

He looks back from mooring the boat, one foot up on the dock in a crouch, the other still on the boat, holding them close together. Your eyes are firmly fixed to his upper arms, the way the muscles strain under the light grey cotton of his striped shirt. It's clearly a staple of his, among the black beret and ballooned pants. He notices you staring and gives the rope an extra firm tug with a cheeky grin on his face. "Come on now, pretty girl. Show's over; it's getting late. You want a hand up?"

With a satisfied smile, you stretch out your hand and place it in his palm. He steps up, both feet on the dock, and practically lifts you out with the one arm. Stumbling a little with the voracity of the motion, you're forced to press your hands against his chest to avoid barrelling into him, and the touch sends a shock running up your spine.

Taehyung's eyes meet yours, then lift to stare at your hair. Mouth parting in surprise, he lifts up a hand. You instinctively duck, then straighten up and let him run his fingers through your hair. You're completely bewildered, until he pulls his hand back down and shows you the dried-up, dead petal that was caught between the strands.

"I wonder how that got there," he muses, eyes lighting up with mischief as a smile overtakes his face, "I should probably check to make sure there aren't any more." And with that suggestion, he promptly lifts both hands up to slip his fingers under your hair, calloused pads running along your scalp, and slowly dragging them out again, your hair tugging slightly on the occasional knot or snag. He does this once on top, second underneath by the nape of your neck, and then one last time starting from just above your ears, only this time he pauses when his hands are buried deep in your hair.

Your eyes are wide and your breath is shallow. "Taehyung," you whisper, though you don't know why. His name just slips out of you like a reflex, or a prayer.

His deep brown eyes are searching intently over your face, stopping when you dip your tongue out to wet your rapidly drying lips. Almost unconsciously, you're tipping your chin up, eyelids fluttering lower and lower.

The moment his grip on you tightens slightly and his brow lowers in determination, your eyes fall shut, and you lick your lips quickly once more, waiting for his kiss. But after a moment, nothing comes.

Just when you go to open your eyes again, internally dying of embarrassment at somehow misreading the situation, you feel the slightest of pressure right in the middle of your left cheek.

Not so much as breathing, you stand perfectly still, mouth parted as his lips leave you and plant an equally soft kiss on your right cheek. After that, a shorter pause than earlier before you feel him kiss your forehead, just below the hairline, and the tip of your nose immediately afterwards.

Almost shaking in his hold, you wait in anticipation for a kiss on your lips, but then his hands are slipping out of your hair, and your eyes are opening back in confusion, and his cheeks are a fiery pink as he fails to meet your gaze.

As he takes a deep breath to centre himself, you find yourself in a haze, wondering if he would've kissed you properly had you brought that saxophone with you. But then the fog clears, and you're berating yourself at the thought of buying his affections like that.

Taehyung blinks and swallows hard, clearing his voice before he speaks, although he can't hide how husky it's become. "I- We- I'm sorry, I... I have to go."

You watch in stunned silence, four different parts of your face tingling wildly, as he abandons his gondola, and you, and rushes frantically forward, disappearing amongst the crowd.

You wonder if he was waiting for you today. Perhaps you're just a coward, but you don't think you could've faced him after yesterday. Instead, you've spent the day holed up in your room, moping around in a white hotel robe, doing absolutely nothing but reliving that moment with Taehyung over and over again in your head. At the current moment, the sun is setting over Venice, and you're sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at that worn leather case on the glass desk.

It's in the same place as where you gently placed it yesterday. Looking over it now, you feel stupid. Naive. Almost five hundred euros spent on a man who was practically a stranger to you. How could you have been that impulsive with your own hard-earned cash? If you really felt like helping out the poor gondolier, there were better things you could've done with that money.

Still, your stomach twists when you think of walking back up to that antiques store to try and get the sweet Italian gentleman to buy it back from you. A gift for a lover. You scoff bitterly.

The room starts to get dark, so you heave yourself off of the tall mattress to go turn the light on. The switch is above the desk, however, and you find yourself hovering, staring down at that case with an indecipherable myriad of feelings swirling inside you. You might as well take a proper look...

Your hands float hesitantly over the silver clips for a moment before you take a deep breath and pop them open, flipping the lid over to reveal the gleaming instrument inside. It's gorgeous, gleaming, yet when you look closer you can see those tell-tale signs of wear. A thin scratch across the surface of one key, a small dent near the bottom of the open bell. The mouthpiece is slightly chipped. These things don't occur to you as flaws, however, but as quiet hints to this saxophone's history. Those differences make it all the more beautiful. As your fingers dance lightly down the body, you envision a young man on a stage in front of a large audience, all enraptured in his performance. The beautiful music that emerges breathes new life into the instrument, allows it to tell its colourful history. For what feels like the millionth time in only three days, you think of Taehyung.

Was he out there now? Waiting for you, getting discouraged as the sun sunk below the horizon, leaving insufficient light to read by? Or had he given up on you, stormed home angrily? Perhaps he was relieved you didn't show up. Perhaps he was showing another customer around Venice as you loitered here in your room. The more you think, you can't decide which outcome would be worse. Frowning, you retract your hand hastily from the cool metal of the saxophone. You feel strangely like you shouldn't be touching it. It's his.

You sigh as your instincts scream at you. Now that you're on your feet, they want to lead you out the door. It's okay that it's late; you know the way to Saint Mark's Square well. "Really?" you mutter to yourself. "He's probably not even there.... fuck."

Realistically, the moment your mind painted the idea that he might have expected you, the decision was already made. You shuck your robe impatiently and slip into a tank top and leggings, stepping into your flats before rushing out of the room.

The summer evening air is warm with the slightest shift of a breeze, and your eyes strain in the low light of the alleyways, a blue-black pooling of shadows on the cobblestone proving difficult to navigate, but you barely take notice. It's not until you're taking the last turn that leads out into the open square that you realise how stupid this is, though your heart has never thudded so hard in your chest. Your veins are electric with anticipation, holding back from breaking into a run.

There are a few food stalls and concession stands lit up with strings of white and yellow fairy lights, although they sit empty and locked up, and the reflection of the waxing moon gleams and pulsates in the shallow ripples of the Grand Canal. The slight improvement in visibility helps you locate the smaller dock a few metres down from the main one, the one Taehyung frequents, and your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking.

It's empty.

Of course he isn't there. It was a stupid idea, and you shouldn't have come. Still, you find yourself hopelessly walking closer, unable to stop until you reach the post he normally ties the gondola too, sitting down on it glumly. You let your eyes fall, staring blankly into the glossy water as it laps at the side of the dock. There are small bubbles on the surface of the water, and it doesn't seem like those ripples are going to settle anytime soon. You frown. Wait a minute…

"Y/n?"

Your head snaps up in the direction of the voice, mouth falling open. Further ahead, the opposite direction from where he had taken you on those three tours, Taehyung's standing in his gondola, waving an arm to you. Your heart soars, and before you know it you're running, skipping over uneven stone as fast as you can to reach him. You keep your head up; something deep inside you wants to keep his face in your line of vision for fear of him disappearing again.

When you skid to a stop on the ground across from him with a relieved smile, you're panting slightly, and though you can barely make out his face in the dark of the night, you can tell he's been crying judging by the way the tracks down his cheeks are luminous in the light of the moon. "Taehyung?"

He reaches a foot out to rest on the edge of the square, the level difference meaning he has to bend at the knee, and holds the gondola still. "Where were you?" he asks bitterly, before sighing and shaking his head slowly. "No, don't answer that, it's none of my business. It's not like you have any reason to come back after yesterday." He sniffs, folds his arms over his knee and plants his chin on top. "...why are you here? Why now?"

You don't like standing so high over him, so you sink down to sit cross-legged on the cool stone. "You were waiting for me?"

Now that you're sitting, his face is on level with yours, and he's close enough that you can see the watery glimmer in his eyes and the way his hair sticks out oddly at the bottom, like he's been playing with it too much. "Well-" he falters, "technically I would've been out here anyway. This is my job, you know.”

You can sense his irritation, even as he tries to keep a neutral tone. “I didn’t know whether I should come,” you admit, “I thought you might not want me to.”

His head tilts to the side, eyes soft and voice softer. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

Your breath catches at the underlying message in his words, and although the night is practically tropical, a smattering of goose bumps rise on your upper arms. “I… You ran away. I thought you must’ve, I don’t know…” Your tongue feels useless in your mouth as you struggle to explain yourself. “I figured you changed your mind, or didn’t like me. Never mind, it was stupid, I should probably go-”

As you go to stand up again a hand flies up and latches onto your wrist, halting you in a hunched-over position. You stare down at him in shock as his own eyes widen, like he’s surprised at his actions. “Y/n,” he says emphatically, “please, get in the gondola. I’ll explain everything, I promise. I just- Don’t go. Please.”

You pause for a moment then nod slowly, silent as his hand slides down your wrist to hold your hand instead, fingers linking.

“Can you get in by yourself?” Your repeated ventures on his gondola have gotten you somewhat used to the rocking of the boat as you get on, but it’s so dark that you can barely see where to put your feet, so you shake your head. As warm as it is, you don’t fancy an illegal dip in the canal.

He smiles broadly at your hesitance and gets up out of the gondola, reaching down to hold it still, before turning to you and snaking a strong arm around the small of your waist. You squeak in surprise as he promptly lifts you and dumps you into the boat, water sloshing around the sides, threatening to spill in.

“Taehyung!” you chastise, but before long he’s hopping on himself, creating much less of a disturbance in the water, and kicking off away from the edge to start rowing. You sit back against the stool so you can keep watching him, though you can’t make out the slightest detail in his face, and rub at your arms, willing away the raised bumps. Although you can’t see where he’s headed, you know it’s the opposite way from the tours you had been on before. “Where are we going?”

He looks down at you, and the levity in his voice hints at a smile. “It’s the end of the day and there are no more tourists wanting a ride. We’re going home.”

For someone who’s done nothing all day, you feel drained and tired, and so after a minute or two of silence, you gingerly slip off the stool and lie down on the floor in the middle of the boat, just enough room between the two stools for your shoulders to be brushing the gold corded strim on their bases. Taehyung makes an amused chuckle in the back of his throat when you lie down, but doesn’t comment.

Above you, the sky is an open expanse of blue-black, fringed with the tops of buildings on either side. A cottony string of cloud slides peacefully over the moon, a fat crescent high above you. Back home, there’s too much light pollution to make out more than a few bright stars, and they’re all spread out, lightyears away from each other. You used to look up at that sky and relate to those stars, burning bright but shining alone. Here in Venice, you can make out little clusters, tiny communities of glowing pinpricks. Just below the moon, two stars are side-by-side, one white, one glowing a little more yellow. The night sky is much nicer here, you decide.

“We’re here,” a husky voice calls out, and you sit up hastily, vision going fuzzy for a moment with the abrupt motion. It’s lighter here, where you’re stopped; the canal is so narrow that the single lamp sconce above a doorway is enough to light up the surrounding area.

As Taehyung docks the gondola, tying it to a conveniently located hook embedded in the brick beside the front door, you take a look around from the low vantage point you have. It looks like the canal equivalent of a driveway, old exposed brick on either side, with a blue-green line all the way down where the water level normally sat. His house sat right on the edge of the water, there being no standing room at all. It was a dead-end, so you figured this must consist as private property; honestly, you had totally zoned out watching the stars while he was going home, and you had no idea how far away from your hotel you were. “...am I staying here tonight?” you ask curiously.

“If you want to,” he replies without looking back at you, but you can see the defensive hunch of his shoulders as he reaches up to unlock the door, which is painted a deep green, and his voice is gentle. He’s still unsure.

“Of course I want to,” you reply, “I was just wondering… I don’t have any pyjamas with me, that’s all.”

The tension in his shoulders eases as he turns the key, and the glow of the lamp behind him frames his mussed-up hair in a halo. Your eyes widen as you finally notice that he’s no longer wearing the black beret he’d donned every other time you’ve seen him. A quick glance down around you shows it lying abandoned in the floor of the boat. You quirk a smile at the image of him tugging it off dramatically to cause his hair to be so messy, but it drops when you remember you’re the reason he would’ve been distressed enough to do that.

Taehyung, unaware of your mental turmoil, opens the door inwards and turns back to extend a hand to you. With one strong tug, you’re up out of the gondola and stumbling into the house, feet re-adjusting to solid ground.

His house is still warm from the evening sun that’s now far beyond the horizon, and when Taehyung flicks a light on in the small entryway, it floods the first floor with a soft yellow glow. The walls are wallpapered with a peeling sunflower pattern and the floor is a worn grey carpet, but already you can see the touches that make this home uniquely Taehyung’s; all along the walls hang framed pictures of him at varying ages with Jungkook and Jin, a coatrack in the corner to the left of the doorway holds a heavy beige overcoat as well as several berets in different shades in the same style as the one he incidentally had left outside in the bed of the gondola, and somewhere upstairs you can hear the muffled sound of French bohemian opera.

Taehyung takes notice of this as he shuts the door behind him. “Ah, I must’ve left that on again this morning,” he mutters under his breath, struggling to lock the door behind him with one hand.

It’s then that you notice he hasn’t let go of you, your fingers still tightly interwoven. You give him a little squeeze to remind him in case he wants to let go, but instead you see a flush rise on his cheeks and a shy smile play at his mouth as he squeezes back.

“Come on,” he announces softly, tugging at your hand slightly to get you moving, “I’ll make you a drink. Do you drink jasmine tea? It’s my favourite.”

You smother a smile at his comment, simply nodding happily and following him through a doorway to the right into a small kitchen. Of course he drank jasmine tea. You wouldn’t be surprised if he also meditated twice a day and sang to the birds every morning.

His kitchen is tiny; a low roof overhangs what consists of no more than the bare necessities: he has a refrigerator, a stove, a metal sink and some cupboards in the far corner, and a small round table with a single chair across from it on the other side of the room.

Your palm goes cold as he abruptly lets go of your hand, springing forward to grab the back of the chair and pull it out from the edge of the table, staring at you expectantly. “Please sit down,” he invites, and you accept gratefully, scooting the chair across the tiles to tuck yourself back in. “I’ll just put the kettle on. Sorry about the mess, I’m sure it’s not as fancy as you’re used to.”

You shake your head in mute protest, enjoying looking over the small quirks and details you can find around the place. As he opens an overhead cabinet for some mugs, you notice he has only three of them, as well as four plates, two bowls and five glasses. It’s clear that he’s been living alone for a while.

As your eyes skim over the room, the kettle quietly bubbling away, you ask curiously, “so how did you get this place? You grew up with Jin and his dad, didn’t you? Why not stay there with them?”

He places a bag of tea in each mug and turns around, holding a finger up at you before darting out of the room. You wait in bewilderment until he returns with a small piano stool, placing it on the other side of the table and perching on the edge. “Sorry, what was your question?”

You furrow your brows. “You have a piano?”

He tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Huh? Oh! You mean the stool. No, I picked this up at the second-hand store. Cheaper than a regular dining chair, can you believe it? I keep it in the cupboard in case I have a guest.”

You nod slowly, lip quirking. “My question was why you live here instead of still at the workshop in the squero.”

His eyes brighten and dart up and to the right as he thinks back in his memory. “Ah, that’s right. Same reason as anyone else, really. I grew up, wanted to feel independent. This house used to belong to an old friend of Jin’s, and so I got it for a good price when he moved away from the city. I know it’s not much, but...” An unconscious smile plays at his lips as he looks over the room. “It’s mine,” he finishes softly. Once he stops speaking, there’s a comfortable silence for a moment or two before the kettle boils, and he gets up to go pour the drinks.

“I like it,” you say once he returns with two steaming mugs. He tilts his head to the side. “The house,” you clarify, “I really like it. It’s very...you.”

He blushes, though maybe it’s from the hot steam wafting over his face as he breathes in the herbal scent. “Does that mean you like me?” he asks, avoiding eye contact.

You fiddle with the handle of your mug, suddenly feeling self-conscious and shy, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Yeah. It does. I like you a lot, Taehyung.”

He inhales the aromatic steam of the tea deeply, a couple of breaths like he’s steeling himself, before he places it down timidly. His eyes dart up to yours, dancing over your face, your lips, before he looks back down again, taking one more deep breath.

You watch him, half-amused and half-spellbound at the way his uncertainty is spelled out on his face. Tea forgotten, you flick your tongue out to wet your lips, mouth dry all of a sudden, and silently wait in anticipation as his eyes glaze over as he internally wars with himself.

Finally, he looks up at you again, and you’re lost in those deep brown eyes. “Y/n,” he says in a husky tone, quieter than perhaps he was aiming for, “can I... I want to try something.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay.”

He blinks like a deer in headlights. “Okay, just- just stay there.”

You barely manage to suppress a smile at his comment, but you can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your ear and thumping in your chest in anticipation, eyes wide as he slides the stool noisily across the tiles, scooting around the table one juddering motion at a time, until his knees are bumping yours.

A hand hovers in the air in front of your face as Taehyung bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

The breath you’ve been unconsciously holding in this whole time comes rushing out. “Please just kiss me,” you beg in a whisper, eyes desperately gazing deep into his.

When his hand finally reaches your face, brushing lightly against the skin of your cheek, his fingers tremble. You lean into his touch, feeling the contact sear your skin, and he furrows his brows in focus as he slips his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head.

Taehyung stares down at your lips again, nods once to himself, and moves forward, using his other hand on your knee to steady himself. Automatically, your eyes flutter shut and your lips part, waiting to receive that which you’ve been longing for. When soft, pillowy lips finally press themselves against yours, you shudder under him, eyes squeezing shut even more to fully drown yourself in sensation.

The kiss is slow, languid, but rich with passion, and you feel your upper half leaning forward instinctively to be closer to him. The hand in your hair curls up slightly, fingers tugging at the roots, and you whimper into his mouth.

As he moves against you, Taehyung tips his head to the side to deepen the kiss, and you feel his tongue dip out of his mouth to press at the seam of your lips. You drop your jaw slightly to let him in, and once you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip, tugging slightly before letting it pop back, you whimper again, breathing his name into the millimetres of air between you.

He makes a little grunt, deep in his throat, and then he’s pulling away from you. Your eyes crack open in a daze, just in time to see a string of saliva that connects the two of you break and land against his chin. Taehyung sucks his swollen bottom lip into his mouth, pupils blown wide.

It’s only once you try to speak that you realise just how heavily you’re panting. “Taehyung, I...”

He retracts his hand from your hair, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone fondly as he does so, and stands up in front of you. “Do you want to come upstairs?” he asks simply.

Your response comes immediately. “Yes.”

The two of you make your way to his room in a hushed silence, each creak of the old wooden stairs at the back of the building heightening your anticipation like a tangible cloud billowing in your stomach. The melodic opera from earlier, the one that you had completely tuned out until now, crescendos as you approach.

The landing has only two doors, both swung open to reveal a bathroom and a bedroom. Taehyung takes the second option and you follow him in, hovering hesitantly in the doorway.

You take a look around as he tidies up quickly, amused at the curious blend of items strewn all over. The music, which he turns down to fade out, comes from a bulky plastic stereo that sits on the floor. In fact, he has very minimal furniture in his room at all, giving it a chaotic feel that complements what it contains.

The walls are covered with posters and photos, a sea of famous composers, paintings, pages of music pinned to the wall beside his double bed. He has a short bookcase tucked between the bed and the wall, and on it is a tiny desk lamp, and a framed black-and-white photo of a beautiful young woman holding a small infant, the glass gleaming in the light from the ceiling bulb. Beside it, stacked up from the floor, is a haphazard pile of all the old books that don’t fit inside the bookcase itself.

You smile softly, moving around Taehyung as he rushes around in a crouch, picking up abandoned pieces of clothing and shoving them inside a laundry hamper by the door. You make your way across the room to look outside the window. It’s a relatively large circle, gilded on the edges, but it’s so dark outside that you’re forced to press your nose against the glass and frame your eyes with your cupped hands to see outside.

As your breath fogs up the glass below, you can make out a small cobblestone street out the back of Taehyung’s house. Most of it is residential, but one place a little ways down looks like a restaurant, with two or three tables out on the street. You squint, grateful for the small streetlamps down there, as you make out a couple sharing a meal of something, guiding spoonfuls into each other’s mouths. Instead of sitting across from each other, they sit side-by-side, the smaller body leaning into the larger one.

You jump when a fluttering pressure lands on your bare shoulder. You pull yourself away from the window, leaving smudge marks from your fingers and nose behind, and turn your head back to face Taehyung. A smile slides across your face automatically at the way he straightens up and looks down at you with eyes full of wonder. It makes you forget about everything outside this room, outside you and him. “I want you,” you confess without thinking.

His breath hitches and his brows lift just slightly, like he can’t believe it. His eyes trail over your face for a moment, searching. When he finds whatever he was looking for in the openness of your face, his eyebrows lift and he beams. “Come to bed.”

You follow him, but at the last minute he swivels out of the way and slips an arm around your back, laying you down on the duvet gently. Your skin feels alight, even the texture of the cotton on your elbows as you scoot up to rest your head in the middle of the pillows feels electric.

He smiles to himself with a blush, gesturing for you to lift your head up, and you do so, observing him as he hastily shuffles the pillows aside so that you can lie back on one properly, instead of the gap between them. Your head falls back, far more comfortable, and you lift your hands up, making grabby motions at him.

The gorgeous man laughs softly, but obeys your unspoken command by lifting a leg up and over you, balancing himself on his knees and leaning down, brushing some stray strands of hair off your face before tenderly pressing a kiss on your lips, his forearm on the pillow beside you propping him up.

Your eyes slip shut naturally, and you allow yourself to be overtaken by the feeling of his lips on yours, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, and the heat of his body hovering over you. When his free hand comes up to hold on to your chin lightly, thumb pressing down to lower your jaw, you clutch at his shirt, balling the fabric by his shoulders, needing an anchor. You let him take control, his sensual yet insistent tongue playing against yours as you gasp out and hook a leg up and around his waist, trying to bring him closer.

He acquiesces with a grin that you feel against your lips, and once his body is pressed flush against you, you let out a soft moan, letting go of his shirt to grasp his face instead, head lifting off the pillow to drown in him even more.

His deft fingers curl around your wrist, squeezing slightly, pulling it away before swapping to do the same with your other wrist. You pout, blinking up at him with eyes sleepy with lust when he pulls away from your lips with an audible pop.

His pupils are dilated, and his breath is coming in shallow pants. “Do you want me to turn the light off?”

You shake your head quickly. “I want to see you.”

A relieved sigh. “Good, me too. You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks go pink, breath catching in your throat when he comes down again, but this time his kisses land on the warm skin over your cheekbones, the left then the right. With your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in wonder, you feel him on the top of your forehead, then on your nose, in an intimate recreation of that day on the docks. “Taehyung,” you breathe, lost in him.

When he pulls back, leaving four spots on your face burning, your eyes struggle to blink open again. He looks slightly pained, a calloused thumb rubbing lightly over your swollen lips. “You have no idea, do you?” he questions, eyes focused on the way your lips spring back when he lets them go. “How crazy I am about you?” When he sighs, you feel it warm your skin, that’s how close he holds himself. “Yesterday was a busy day. Three different tour groups came in, all wanting gondola rides. There were even a few Koreans among them. I got asked for a trip countless times. I could’ve made a fortune.”

Your brows furrow, seeing where he’s going with this. “Taehyung,” you repeat morosely, unsure what else you could say.

“I turned them all down,” he admits flatly, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice, “because I couldn’t stand the thought of you coming down and me not being there.” His fingers leave your lips, resting against your cheek instead. His eyes dart up to meet yours finally, and you note with surprise that they’re glassy. “And then you never came.”

“I’m so sorry. I- I was stupid. But I’m here now.”

The tears fade as fast as they arrived, and you’re glad he didn’t start crying, but his eyes still droop in sorrow. “Are you? I’m so scared that I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream.” He leans down again, burying his face against the sensitive skin of your neck. You gasp as he kisses and suckles at your pulse point. “You feel like a dream,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice lights up your nerve endings, electricity shooting up your spine.

“I’m real,” you assure him, “can’t you feel how fast my heart is racing for you right now?”

His breath escapes him in a shudder, but he doesn’t reply, instead sitting up slightly. You watch him as he reaches for one of your hands, and brings it up to his face, pressing a delicate kiss on each fingertip. Methodically, with his eyes closed dreamily, he makes his way up the delicate skin of your inner arm, leaving behind red patches and streaks of moisture. Every gentle flick of the tip of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, has a fire gradually building between your legs, and you squeeze your thighs together, whimpering impatiently by the time he reaches your shoulder.

He chuckles against your skin, gazing sultrily up at you through dark eyelashes. “Be patient, angel, I want to take my time with you.”

Your chest heaves and you bite your lip as he sits up, lets your arm fall gently to the bed, only to pick up your other hand and begin again. It feels like an eternity of sensation, a slow pilgrimage from your fingertips to your collarbone, and when you manage to control your quickening breaths, you can both hear and feel him mumbling against your skin as he laves at the crook of your neck.

You head tips to the side to give him more room, the ball of your foot digging into his behind more firmly as you shift your pelvis under him, desperate for friction. “Taehyung, please,” you beg, “I need you.”

He places one final kiss to the area he was paying attention to, rubbing it with his thumb to observe the wash of colour blooming on your skin with a smile. “I want you too,” he assures you, “I’ve been thinking about this all the time since the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes plead with him. “Then take me. I’m yours.” Your hands grasp at the hem of your tank top, crossing over with the intent of whipping it off urgently, but Taehyung shushes you, stopping your undressing, holding your wrists firmly above your head with one hand as he bent down and played with the edge of the fabric with his other.

You swallow hard and arch your back into his touch as the sensitive skin of your stomach is brushed by the backs of his knuckles. You rub your thighs together again. “Come on,” you whine hopelessly, turning your face to bury it against the soft flesh of your upper arm, fingers curling in the air to try and reach his hand where he’s holding you down. “Haven’t you teased me enough?”

He lets out a deep exhale and lies flat against your lower half, rubbing his nose against your hipbone, feeling you trembling under him. “I’m not teasing,” he defends emphatically, licking at the skin, pinching it just slightly between his teeth. “I’m worshipping every inch of you like you deserve.” A warm palm slides under the fabric and runs up to stretch out across the top of your stomach, holding you flat against the bed. “God, you’re perfect.”

Your cheeks are hot against the skin of your arm, and you sigh in resignation, torn between thriving off the praise, and wanting, needing, more. You lift up your head to look down at him, and feel yourself dampen even more. “Fuck, Taehyung.” Your shirt is tented where his hand spans almost your entire front, rucked up slightly to reveal the soft skin of your stomach, where he lays sloppy yet intentional kisses upwards, eyes lidded and heavy with lust as they stare up at you. You bite your lip and push at the hand keeping your wrists locked together, wanting nothing more than to reach down and card your fingers through his ruffled brown hair, but he just grins at your effort, not budging at all.

He pushes your top up further and further on his languid journey upwards, until it’s bunched up over the top of your breasts, exposing your bra.

It’s just a plain cotton one with minimal padding, the kind you wore on lazy days, but the way he’s staring down at your chest in wonder stops you from feeling self-conscious. With your hands still tucked above your head, you wordlessly arch your chest up at him, trying to make contact with the hand that hovers just above you. When the fabric brushes his fingertips, he sighs out heavily and follows you down, resting his palm gently across one of your mounds.

Nervously, his eyes dart up to you and then back down, and you grin when you work out what’s giving him pause. “Don’t know how to open it with one hand, do you?” you tease. “If only my hands were free, I could take it off for you.”

He sits back further, pressure increasing on your upper legs, the arm above your head stretching out straight. “I’m gonna let go of your wrists now,” he announces in a raspy voice, “keep them above your head, okay? Be a good girl.”

When he does let go of them to grab onto the pile of tank top around the top of your breasts, you’re too shocked to move, letting him tug the top over your head and limp arms, before tossing it away into the corner of the room.

Before his hands tuck behind your back to find the bra clasp, he lets his eyes and hands roam your torso freely, the warmth of his palms on your skin making your fingers curl into fists with the restraint not to touch him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you lift up at the spine to grant him access to your back. He fiddles with it for a few moments gently, before hunkering down, eyes scrunched closed in concentration, but even his jerkier movements don’t free the hooks from their clasps behind you. Eventually, he huffs and opens his eyes again, looking down at you with a sheepish smile that you can’t help but return. “Would you mind taking your bra off for me? It’s, uh… it’s been a while.”

You nod but gesture for him to scoot up a bit as if you need more room, but once he does you quickly slip your legs out from between his knees and sit up, throwing a leg over his lap and pushing his chest back.

Although he could no doubt overpower you, he lets you have your way, lying back against the sheets, hair splayed out around him like a halo. The bed is just long enough that his head doesn’t fall off the far end, but you twist around to grab a pillow for him first, grinning cheekily as you repeat his earlier actions, letting him lie more comfortably. At his curious gaze, you pout at him playfully. “I can be chivalrous too, you know.”

“I’m sure.” Once you’re straddling him, Taehyung’s hands find your hips, still clad in leggings that you wish were off already, but you don’t want to give up your momentary position of power, so you reach behind you and deftly unsnap the bra, letting it fall slowly down your arms before flinging it away.

Taehyung’s eyes dilate even more, locked onto your nipples which are already standing at full attention from the excitement of his earlier ministrations. “So perfect,” he mutters to himself before a hand slides up your side and cups your breast, forefinger dancing lightly over your nipple as he splays out over it.

You gasp at the sudden sensation and curl inwards, chest coming down closer to him. “Please, more,” you plead breathlessly.

He hums in amusement, flicking the bud teasingly as you shudder, hands clutching at his shirt. “Does it feel good? God, look at you, so responsive, so sensitive for me.”

You bite your lip and rock your pelvis against him, feeling his hardness beneath you. You don’t know how he has the restraint to spend so much time cherishing your body when he’s clearly ready to take you, and at this point you honestly couldn’t say if you wished he would hurry up or take his time.

A choked cry is pulled from your throat as he kneads that breast, and, while you’re distracted, tightly pinches the other nipple with his other hand, immediately letting go and soothing the delicate flesh with his thumb.

You’re sure at this point you must be soaking through your leggings, and you grind again, but are halted by Taehyung tutting at you. “Stop that,” he warns, “if I cum now you won’t get to feel me in that pretty pussy of yours.”

A jolt pierces through you at his filthy words, but you can’t help from grinning slyly down at him. “You wouldn’t know if my pussy is pretty or not, you haven’t even seen it yet.”

He rolls both nipples under his thumbs and forefingers simultaneously, and you keen over into the contact, barely holding yourself up on his chest. “Patience,” he reminds you simply, humour lacing his tone as he watches you fall apart on top of him. “Now c’mere.” With a sudden single movement, he sits up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you flush against him to keep you steady. You’re now sat on his lap, legs wide over his crotch as he sits in the middle of the bed.

His arms stretch out just enough so that you lean back slightly in his secure hold, and before you can process it, a wet heat closes around on your left nipple. You cry out and go lax against him, falling back over his arm as you desperately grab at his broad shoulders for support.

Unlike the way he manhandled you into position, the way he worships your nipple with his mouth is sensual and dedicated, sparing no effort as he laps his tongue over it. You let your eyes fall closed and try to steady your breathing, losing your mind. You can feel every suck, flick and nibble like the sensations have been magnified, and although he scolded you for it before, you can’t help but wriggle your hips, longing for some friction between your legs.

He lets go of your left nipple with a wet pop, groans breathily, and moves promptly over to envelop your right one, triggering another throaty cry from you. Distantly, you realize you’ve been chanting his name under your breath between whimpers, a hot coil in your stomach tightening as you tremble beneath him.

A particularly harsh tug of your stiff peak between his teeth has you locking up, arms flying around his neck to hold yourself tight against him as a sudden orgasm takes a hold. Your toes curl up and you rock yourself over his crotch to heighten the feeling, moaning nonsensically as he continues to stimulate the nerve endings in your nipple, switching back to the left as you come down from your high and shy away from the overwhelming sensation.

Once he breaks away and sits upright, he looks at you in awe, lips slick and swollen. “Did you just cum from that?”

You pant, a lazy dopamine-induced smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you make out through shallow breaths, “you were taking too long to fuck me so I thought I should just go ahead myself.”

“Is that so?” he questions, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “I suppose now that you’ve got what you wanted, you won’t be so impatient anymore. Lie back.”

You lick your lips and do as he asked, the arms behind you lowering you slowly until you return to the soft sheets, looking up at him. Secretly, you’re glad he suggests the change of position, as your legs feel wobbly with the surprising intensity of your orgasm. “Taehyung…”

“Mm?”

Your hands fiddle with his shirt. “Let me see you.”

Suddenly, a blush is rising on his cheeks again, but he sits back and reaches a hand behind him, tugging the shirt off by the neck quickly and without ceremony.

You feel your mouth watering at the sight of him. Unsurprisingly, his arms and shoulders are corded muscle, streamlined from using the oar in the water, but what you aren’t expecting is the contrast of a buff chest and soft stomach. With the way he’s holding his arms over it, it makes him self-conscious, but it just makes him that much cuter to you. “You’re gorgeous, Taehyung,” you tell him genuinely, reaching out to run a hand over his pecs, then sliding down to brush your knuckles against his tummy as you fiddle with his waistband. “Every part of you.”

His eyes grow warm and he leans back in for another soft kiss, claiming your mouth quickly yet deeply, a kiss that speaks of comfort and urgency. He looks over you as your eyes flutter and struggle to focus on him. After waiting for you to recover again, he rubs your jawline with his thumb. “Are you still sure about this? If it’s too soon, we can-”

“Please, Taehyung,” you beg, “no more foreplay, I need you now.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Can’t I…?” You suck in a breath when his hand slips between your legs, pressing up through the two layers of fabric that separate him from your heat.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, but you shake your head. “Next time. Please.”

That does it. His cheeks go pink and his eyes crinkle at your words, before he’s standing up to shuck his pants off and kick them away, hopping back on the bed to reach for yours.

You lift your hips off the bed to help him pull your leggings down with your panties, sucking in a breath as his hands pass over the curve of your ass and down your legs, his sense of need finally helping him pick up the pace.

Your legs fall open and your mouth goes dry with anticipation watching his dick shift in his underwear, straining at the fabric with a darker wet patch amongst the light grey. If you weren’t so desperate to feel him inside you, you’d be on your knees already.

Once you finally get the fabric off your ankles and away from you, you’re ready for Taehyung to lie over you again, but instead he grabs one of your ankles and tosses it over the side of the bed, spreading you wide open before his head ducks down and he licks a rough swipe up through your folds, collecting your wetness on his tongue. You cry out and jerk in surprise, but he’s already leaning back, pushing his tongue around his mouth like he’s savouring your taste, eyes closed blissfully.

“Next time,” he repeats dreamily to himself, before he reaches down to the waistband of his underwear, slipping it down slowly. Your breath catches in anticipation when you see the dark tuft of hair, before sucking in a quiet gasp when the underwear comes fully down, letting his erection jump out, bobbing in the air. Fuck. He’s huge.

Your leg is still haphazardly hanging off the edge of the bed, and you have no time to react before his hand is coming down between your legs to rub his flat palm against you, slicking it up before he begins pumping himself, sighing in relief at the friction.

That brief contact you had gotten against your clit when he was rubbing against you has you desperate for more, and you whisper his name in a plea for more. Taehyung looks down at you, biting his lip as he jerks off. “Condom?” he asks, and you pause for a second before shaking your head. “I’m clean, and I hope you are too, but if we don’t use one you could get knocked up, Y/n.” You stay silent, simply widening your legs in front of him. He swears lowly and gets up, getting on top of you, propping himself up by a forearm so that he’s close enough to kiss you.

His breath warms the skin of your face as he looks down and focus on lining himself up with his other hand. You bite your lip and let out a moan when you feel his head slipping between your folds and pressing against your entrance. He checks in with you one last time before the pressure increases, and then your head is tipping back weakly as the blunt head of his cock stretches your opening.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muses, “n’ so warm for me.”

With no preparation, it’s on the verge of being too big a stretch, and your eyes squeeze shut, focusing on relaxing around the intrusion. “Fuck, Taehyung…”

“Too much?” he checks, going still, though his upper arms tremble as he holds himself above you.

You shake your head. “Just go slow.”

Taehyung nods and begins to move again, stopping every inch or so to let you adjust. The feeling of him splitting you open is divine, and by the time you feel his hips flush against you, you’re panting underneath him.

He pauses there, bending down to plant light kisses all over your face until you can’t help but giggle at the ticklish touches. He stops with one last kiss on your lips, murmuring against them quietly. “How are you doing? Okay?”

With a hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, you rock your pelvis experimentally and give out a strangled moan when you feel him shift inside you. “So full,” you admit, slowly accommodating to the feeling, already wanting more.

Taehyung takes your lips once more before raising himself up a little higher for better leverage and control. He tries to pull out slowly, eyebrows furrowed tightly and mouth open as he feels you clenching around him. “Y/n,” he chants, “you fit perfectly around me, feels so good.” With that, he begins to thrust into you, a slow drag back and forth since you’re currently too tight for anything faster.

“Oh god,” you breathe quietly. Taehyung’s head falls down onto his shoulder and you can feel how hot his cheeks are. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. “What did you say?”

“Louder,” he admits reluctantly, nose nuzzling the crook of your shoulder. “I want you to be louder. I want to hear you.”

You sigh and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Then make me.”

He groans at your words, but you feel the muscles in his back tense up as he starts to fuck into you with more vigour, drawing out a garbled moan with every stroke as he presses up against your g-spot.

Although he asked for you to be louder, he himself is surprisingly noisy for a guy. You can hear through his grunts and pants the effort he’s expending, and underneath it all is a low whine that comes out every time you clench involuntarily around him. You’re dripping so much that you can hear the wet smacks fill the small room, and that trio of sounds is all that is heard as you feel yourself approaching that edge again.

“Nng, Taehyung, right there, oh please, more, I need more,” your mouth goes without you even being aware of the words tumbling out, and although you try to keep your eyes open to watch his face change as he’s overcome with pleasure, a particularly hard thrust has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Fu-uck.”

“Good?” he asks, and you nod with as much energy as you have left, crying out when you feel a rough thumb massaging your clit. “Can you come for me, angel?”

“Y- So close, oh god,” your hips start canting up to meet his every thrust, making him swear under his breath.

“Me too,” he confesses, “I’m gonna need to pull out soon.”

“Come inside,” you plead immediately, “come inside me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, and you swear the force of his thrusts increase, “you want me to fill you up, hm?”

You whine hopelessly, taken aback by how he gets filthier the closer to orgasm he gets. “Please, Taehyung.”

“Look at you,” he pants, carding a hand fondly through your sweaty hair, chuckling breathlessly when you nuzzle into it, “so desperate for me. Shit, I’m almost there.”

He stops speaking to put all his effort into fucking you, maintaining the punishing rhythm on your clit, and suddenly you’re convulsing under him, propelled without warning into an even stronger orgasm than before.

Taehyung growls and his thrusts falter, off-beat but with as much force as he can muster, and soon enough he’s falling over the edge too, chest collapsing on top of you.

You smile blissfully. “That was amazing.” After a moment you get no reply, and you laugh quietly. “Taehyung?”

“I love you, Y/n,” he pants into your shoulder, sighing happily.

You freeze, even as your pussy still contracts with aftershocks from your orgasm. Your head turns quickly to look down at him, but you see him, face peaceful, eyes closed, already falling asleep.

His head rises and falls with your breathing as it slowly evens out, but even as he slumbers, you lie on your back with a sticky mess slowly drying between your legs, wide awake.

It’s not even six in the morning when the sun rises and pierces you right in the eyes, but it doesn’t wake you up. You never slept.

The whole night, as you stayed completely still while Taehyung nuzzled your shoulder in his sleep and cuddled into you, your mind was tossing and turning.

You wanted to leave, a fight or flight instinct had kicked in the second he said those three words, but somehow amongst your own personal dilemma, you couldn't bear to upset him. So here you were, neck cramping slightly, wincing at the glare of the sun through that circular window, wishing you were anywhere else.

Maybe he wouldn't remember it, you figured. You could always play ignorant, like you had never even heard, but if you did that you'd never know if he meant it or was just saying it in the heat of the moment. Surely he didn't love you already; you'd only met him four days ago.

But at the end of the day, it wasn't really what he said that was the main problem.

It was the fact that you were... beginning to feel the same. And yet you had a flight out of here in ten days, and started work the following Monday.

At some point in the night, you had started to cry silently, thinking of your life back home. It was nothing like this world here. You had an expensive, tiny apartment in a high-end area, although you spent more time in your office than you did at home, working the hours away until the dull throb behind your eyes became too much to handle.

Until you had come here, it felt like you were simply putting in the elbow grease you had to to survive. But now the thought of working in that environment felt suffocating and meaningless.

You had to leave, but you didn't want to go. Four days here, and you already had more reasons to stay than you did to return.

A throaty hum breaks you out of your thoughts, and you feel Taehyung's grip tighten on you, before it goes lax again. You hold your breath.

"You stayed," he remarks in a gravelly voice, full of wonder, and your heart breaks all over again.

"Taehyung, I- I have to go."

He straightens up suddenly, pulling the blankets back with him, and you wince at the cold air on your naked body. "Why? Do you need to get back to your hotel?" His face falls, and he cards a hand through his hair to settle the bedhead nest it was in. "I was going to make you some breakfast. Can't you stay for a little while?"

You look down, body missing his warmth already by the way goosebumps spring up on your arms and thighs. "It's... It's not about that. I can't do this, Taehyung. I'm sorry."

"Do this?" You bite your lip hard, needing the pain as recompense for the way his eyes run over you morosely. Taehyung runs a hand over his face, pinching his brow. "I don't understand what you mean. If you didn't want to, you should've told me before we..." He breaks off and sighs heavily.

You glance around the room, looking for your clothes that are strewn across the hardwood floor, trying to ignore the defeated slump of his shoulders in your peripheral. "I'm sorry, Taehyung. I had fun, but I don't think-"

"Fun?" he asks incredulously, and you snap your head back to him in shock at his sudden volume. "This was all a bit of fun for you?"

You shake your head. "That's not what I-"

"Forget it," he interrupts bitterly. "Maybe in the city you're used to one night stands and meaningless sex, but you should've known that for me it means a lot more. It meant a lot more."

Your lip trembles, but you remain silent.

He sighs again, resigned. "I think you should leave." Without looking at you, he stands up, collects his clothes, and hovers at the doorway, head turned aside. "Don't bother locking the door on your way out. It's not like a poor man like me has anything worth stealing anyway."

You're left sitting on the bed, feeling, for the first time since you arrived here in Venice, truly alone.

Days pass. He must've found a different spot to dock up. Perhaps he's stopped coming at all. You know this because several times a day, often more times than you can count on one hand, you find yourself back at Saint Mark's Square, wandering around the edge of the canal, looking for him.

You spend a week filled with regret, moping around the streets and canals of Venice in a melancholic haze. Getting in a Vaporetto and staying on until the end of the line only to get one to come all the way back becomes a ritual. You crave being able to zone out and take a break from reality, even if it doesn't last as long as you wish.

For the most part, you avoid your hotel room. You feel sick breathing in the scent of expensive perfumed flowers, hate seeing that battered saxophone case still resting smugly on the desktop.

Foolishly, after a day or two, you miss him so badly that you start to seek out the workshop he took you to, in the hopes that he might be there. However, when you had gone on that gondola ride, you were so moony-eyed over him that you had completely failed to pay attention to where you were going at all, and now you had to hopelessly roam the streets, trying to recognise a doorway, a cafe, anything that would point you in the right direction.

By day four, you begin to get desperate. You'd had enough time to yourself to think things through. You knew you had royally screwed up that conversation with Taehyung. You wished more than anything that you could go back and do it over, but instead you had to focus on the future.

It was becoming more and more apparent, as your heels got blisters and your thighs rubbed themselves raw, that Taehyung wasn't just a crush or a fling. He was right. That night you shared had meant something. At the time, you were scared. You still were. But Taehyung's confession had scared you so much then because you couldn't bear the thought of growing closer to him, of falling for him like he's falling for you and then getting on a plane and leaving him behind.

Now, you were scared because you knew what you had to do.

It began with calling your landlord back home, and your boss at work. You would have to go back home for at least a month to fill out your required resignation notice, and probably a bit more time beyond that to get your finances and belongings in order, but the more details you sorted, the more a blooming flicker of hope lit up inside you.

You even went into an internet cafe on the south side of town, logging into a computer and researching everything; real estate in Venice, visas, attaining residency. Perhaps it was a big change, maybe even one you weren't really thinking through, but every day without seeing Taehyung felt like weight crushing your chest, and you knew that it was too late for you.

You were in love with him.

Still, as your days here drew to a close, and you felt like you had explored all of Venice with no luck, you didn't know what to do. You stop outside a busy main street, sighing in defeat. You had seen this street a million times before. With the limitations of the canals, there were some places you couldn't go without a private water vehicle, and so it seemed you were just wandering in cir-

"Ow, shit, sorry!"

You stumble as a hard force knocks you over, barely getting your feet under you to remain standing. "Ah, it's o.... Jungkook?"

"Do I know you?" He's breathing a little heavily, like he's been running, and he's holding two brown paper bags to his chest. His pout of confusion opens to a little 'o' when his eyes light up. "Uptown girl! I remember you. How are you...oh, not good, right? I heard what happened."

This is your chance. You don't have time for small talk. "Jungkook, I need to speak to him."

He purses his lips to the side, shifting the heavy groceries in his grip. "I don't know... I don't think he wants to see you."

"I know he might be a bit hurt at the moment, but I-"

"No, you don't understand." Jungkook crinkles his brow. "I don't think he wants to see you ever again."

Your heart crumbles in your chest. With wide eyes, you blink at the young boy pleadingly. "I need to explain some things to him. I didn't have time to tell him before, but I... I need him to know. Please, Jungkook."

But the boy just shakes his head mournfully, ducking it to avoid your imploring gaze. "Jin-hyung would never forgive me. I can't betray Taehyung's trust like that. Well... It was nice to see you, for what it's worth. Have a good day."

He pushes past you again, and without thinking, you whirl around and grab onto his shirt sleeve. "Jungkook! Please, if I can't see him, at least pass on a message for me. Tell him I fly back home in two days. If he's willing to forgive me, or even just to speak with me, it needs to be before then. I'll wait at the docks every night until I have to go. And tell him I-" I love him. "...that's all. Just tell him that. Please."

Jungkook shrugs out of your grip, wriggles his shoulder to try and break up the wrinkles in the fabric your fingers created, and nods at you once, before turning tail and scurrying away.

You watch as he reaches the docks towards the end of the main street, and passes the bags down into a gondola, one that looked larger than Taehyung's. In the bed is a man with broad shoulders, one you recognise as the other workshop carpenter, who puts them at his feet. As Jungkook gets in, he speaks solemnly with the elder and points back down the street to where you are.

You swallow hard as Jin looks up at you and narrows his eyebrows. His gaze stays heavy on you until you look down, turning to leave.

He doesn't come Wednesday night. He doesn't come Thursday night.

You stay there each time until almost three in the morning, until your eyes feel so heavy that you can't guarantee you won't fall asleep on the dock. Both nights, your only company is that saxophone case. You bring it, hoping it might act as an apology gift, but instead it serves more as a pillow to prop your head on when you sit cross-legged on the damp wood, watching the natural lull of the water lap at the algae on the posts hour after hour.

Friday morning you pack up your belongings from your hotel room and finalise your plans. If he doesn't show, which you are beginning to believe he won't, you'll go and never come back. Maybe you'll still change jobs, who knows, but you know that you can't bear to be here if it's not by his side.

On your way back out to the docks, the hotelier calls you over in the lobby. She's concerned for you; through her broken English, she questions why you come in so late. You don't have a good reason. She produces a printout of a weather report, trying to explain what some of the terms mean in English, but you can't understand her, and in the end you make an excuse and leave.

Since it's your last day, you want to be sure you won't miss him, and so instead of returning to that small, abandoned dock just after dinner, you order some street food and eat lunch there, just you and the saxophone case.

There aren't many tourists around today. It's balmy out, more humid than normal and perhaps the heavy blanket of clouds above have scared some of them away. You enjoy the quiet, however; you've grown accustomed to the bubble you live in while here, feeling a million miles away from anyone else in the world.

You first notice the rain when you see spots of grey on your white blouse. It doesn't bother you then, although it's not ideal considering this shirt is dry clean only.

By four in the afternoon, it's dark enough to be evening with how thick and low the stormy clouds hang, and you're the only one in Saint Mark's Square. You frown, regret not trying to communicate better with the hotelier, and curl yourself around the black instrument case.

The rain sets in not too long after.

Hot blasts of bucketing rain pellet you, slapping against the old wood dock and stone courtyard noisily, foaming at the once-placid water of the canal. Your hair is sopping wet, you fear that water might be slipping through the cracks of the case, and you're soaked to the skin, but still, you remain.

Thanking your lucky stars it's not windy or cold, you duck your head down and squeeze your eyes shut, legs and arms wrapped around the case to try and protect it with your body. You're so focussed on keeping yourself steady, that you don't notice the water level rising until it starts pooling up around you.

You lift your head up, rainwater pelting down your face and stinging your eyes, and watch in wonder as the canal overflows. Soon enough, you're submerged to the top of your waist, and the water is beginning to spread over the main square.

The water from the canal is cooler, and you begin to shiver. Looking down at the black case, you know there's no way the water hasn't seeped in through the hinges and flooded the instrument, and, after almost eight hours of sitting at the docks, you begin to sob.

It starts out as a frustrated cry, annoyed that your money had essentially gone down the drain, potentially ruining the instrument for all you knew about saxophones. The rain flooded the tears away before you could feel it track down your face, but once the dam broke, you found yourself heaving, weeping noisily and hopelessly, for everything that had gone downhill in the past week or so. For how stupid you had been. For letting yourself fall in love only to lose him.

Although you could barely make out its muted glow from behind a cloud, you could tell when the sun went down by the way the square is plunged into a gloomy darkness. As the canal overspills onto the square, you feel yourself lift off the dock, the water pulling you along, and you know it's time to move further inland.

You stand up with wobbly legs, doing your best to keep a grip on the slippery handle of the case, and hold onto the posts for support as you slosh through the water. Your clothes are heavy and waterlogged, and you wouldn't be surprised if you woke up tomorrow morning with a cold in the middle of summer. "Fuck!" you scream angrily into the stormy heavens, feeling a desperate rage take over. "Give me a chance, Taehyung! Where are you?!"

"What are you doing, Y/n?"

You let out a strangled cry and whirl around. "Taehyung?" He struggles to row against the tide, face tensed up with effort, but you've never been so relieved to see anyone in your life. "You came!"

You splash your way back recklessly to the end of the dock to meet him, and he finally reaches out and latches onto the end post with all his strength, holding the gondola still in the chaos of the storm. He's equally soaked through, and he pushes his dripping hair out of his face as he looks up at you. "Get in," he yells over the crashing of the rain.

Your lip trembles, and you feel the tears spring to your eyes again. "Taehyung, I'm so sorry."

"Get in," he insists, "unless you want to catch your death out here."

Your entry into the gondola isn't nearly as graceful as your others, but the moment you collapse onto the waterlogged sofa, he pushes off from the dock with a grunt and begins the hard trudge back the way he came. You only barely recognise the way back to his house, unable to see much through the thick sheets of pouring rain, but he seems to navigate the way just fine, rowing in staunch silence.

You hold the saxophone case to your chest the whole way back, and when he finally reaches home and moors the gondola, he looks down at you with a frown, before opening his front door, getting in, and shutting it loudly behind him.

You sniffle, shivering slightly, unsure if you're meant to follow, but with the way the boat is filling up with rainwater, there's not really any other option. You stand up shakily, open the door and bundle yourself inside, collapsing on the cold tile of the entryway and kicking the door shut behind you, panting.

The saxophone case clatters to the ground noisily, and he kicks at it lightly. "What's this?" he asks in a gruff voice, ignoring the way water pools at his feet as it drips off of him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand, though it doesn't do much. "A saxophone," you say through shallow breaths, "for you."

He furrows his brows. "You went out and bought me a saxophone right before you were due to leave the city? Were you that convinced I was going to show up?"

You sigh, bones heavy, feeling the exhaustion of the past few days hit you. "No," you admit. "I bought it after that day in the workshop. When you said you used to play but couldn't afford a new saxophone."

He sighs, turns and makes his way upstairs as he replies. You scramble to your feet and follow him up the stairs. "So you thought I wanted a sugar daddy, huh? Poor old Taehyung." He scoffs bitterly, though his shoulders hang low in hurt. "It'll be ruined now, anyway."

The two of you reach his room, and you avert your eyes awkwardly as he peels off his wet shirt and pants. He leaves to go to the bathroom, and you raise your voice to be heard over the crashing of rain on the roof. "I'm so sorry, Taehyung. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Well, you did," he states plainly, returning with two towels. He throws one at your chest, and begins to dry off his hair with the other. "I wasn't going to come down, you know. In the end, I was just worried that you'd be stupid enough to stay out there during a flood. Guess I was right."

You duck your head, following his lead by stripping out of your wet clothes, leaving on a soaked bra and underwear and wrapping yourself in the bath towel. "Please just let me explain myself," you plead emphatically, "I'm here now. Surely you can give me that much."

He casts his eyes to the ceiling, and you think you catch a glimmer of tears pooling in them. "Fine, go ahead."

You let out a relieved breath you didn't realise you were holding. "Thank you. Listen, that morning... I was scared. I've never been in love before, and here I am, falling for a man who lives in a completely different country. I couldn't help but think how much worse it would be if we spent this past week together, only for me to leave anyway. I thought that it would be better to protect ourselves from that heartbreak. But I was wrong. I knew it the moment you left, but it was too late."

He sits down on the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. "Jungkook said you fly out tomorrow." His voice is flat with resignation, but not as glum as before. "Why are you saying all this if you're still leaving?"

"...because I love you, Taehyung," you admit quietly, and he glances up at you in shock. "And I've realised that I don't want to go back to my old life for good. I... I've made some calls. I have to go back to sort some things out, but... I could come back here. I could move here." You take the chance to step forward, approaching him slowly until you're standing directly in front of him. "I want to. But only if you're with me. If you really can't forgive me, I'll leave and never come back. Just don't think for a second that I don't love you like you love me. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Taehyung swallows hard, still not looking at you.

You feel your heart sink. "Please say something."

He breathes out slowly, shoulders dropping. "You mean it?" he asks lowly. "You'll come back?"

"Of course I will," you rush out, dropping to your knees so that you can look him in the eyes. Even as his face is pained, his eyes are bright with hope. "I promise you, Kim Taehyung. If I could, I would never leave in the first place. And don't worry, I've looked into renting a place here when I arrive, so you don't have to-"

"No," he croaks out suddenly, "stay. Stay with me." You lift your hand up to cup his cheek, and he turns his face, kissing your palm. "How long will you be gone for?"

"A month and a half, maybe two."

His hand comes up to clutch at yours, holding it against his cheek. When he blinks balefully down at you, a tear spills over and spatters on his bare knee. "I don't want you to leave me again. I know it's selfish, but..."

You knit your brows in sympathy, sitting up to press a kiss on his lips gently, watching the way his eyes flutter shut. "We still have tonight."

He exhales with a shudder and nods. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, he’s looking down at you with a vulnerability in his eyes you haven’t seen before. Sensing there are no more words that need to be said, he bends down and joins your lips together again.

You feel your breath hitch at the sudden intensity in his kiss. Last time was all shy and gentle, but now it seems like Taehyung’s fired by raw need. It’s no less meaningful, however; you can still feel how his hands shake slightly as they pull at your upper arms, trying to get you to sit up.

You follow his guidance, lifting yourself off the ground, still joined at the mouth, and he stands with you, fingertips running lightly all over your still-damp skin, attacking your senses.

You pull back briefly, take a couple of shallow breaths, and blink dazedly at him. “I’m getting cold, Taehyung, can we…” You tip your head towards the bed behind him, shivering slightly in your wet underwear and bra.

He agrees with a hum as he reclaims your lips, and all of a sudden you’re yelping into his mouth as he’s using those corded arms of his to lift you up onto him. Instinctively, your arms and legs wrap around him, and he turns around and kicks the covers back with a foot before letting you down onto the bed.

You bounce slightly on the mattress, wincing at the way your slips of fabric immediately make damp patches on the fabric. You pout up at him and he grins down at you, reaching down a finger to playfully snap the fabric of your waistband on your skin. “Should we take these off?” he asks in teasing voice, and you nod quickly, taken aback by his change in demeanour.

“Please, Taehyung,” you beg as you unclip your bra, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties off and away, “I need you.”

Your legs fall open naturally when he runs a flat palm up the inside of your leg, finishing at the top of your thigh. His eyes are darkened with lust, and he bites his lip at the sight of you. “And you’ll get me,” he promises, “but now it’s time for me to cash in.”

You frown, but you realize what he means when he falls to his knees, grabbing your ankles and tugging you down so that your ass is right on the edge of the bed. “Tae,” you gasp, but your hand is already in his hair, fingers brushing his scalp and running through the damp strands.

He leans into your touch, lids lowering in bliss, then snaps himself out of it and looks back down at you. His intense gaze at your most private part would have you shying away from embarrassment were it not for the look of absolute wonder and desire in his eyes. “Every part of you is so perfect,” he praises lowly, and your breath hitches when he brings up a single finger to run down the middle of you, parting your folds.

You feel a sea of goose bumps all over your skin, and you find yourself whispering pleas to him for more. A pleasured sigh is taken from you when he obliges by using two fingers to part your folds, exposing him to you, and he blows a thin stream of cool air over your clit.

Your head falls back against the mattress when you hear him chuckle quietly. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, “are you always this wet when you haven’t even been touched yet?”

Oh God. There’s something so erotic about the hopeless romantic speaking so dirtily to you. “Only because it’s you, Taehyung.”

“Oh?” Your legs jump, tightening against the edge of the bed when he bends down to slurp noisily at you, sucking up some of your slick. Your mouth drops open when he wipes his face clean against the sensitive skin of your thigh. “So this pussy’s all for me?”

“Y-yeah,” you moan, breaths choppy and uneven as he continues to tease you, running a finger lazily up and down, never brushing against your clit or dipping into your hole deeper than a fingertip. “Tae, please, more.”

You shudder and breathe out shakily when he finally lets a finger sink down into you, only stopping when he can go no further. He hums contentedly at your reaction. “Well, I can’t say no when you have such polite manners. Here,” he uses his free hand to cup the back of your leg and hitch it over his shoulder, tugging a little bit so that you’re even closer to his waiting mouth. “Now let me hear you moan for me.”

And with that, he descends on you. Gone are the light touches and teasing brushes. Now, it feels like he’s devouring you, and you’re in heaven.

His tongue is merciless as it sucks, flicks and swipes at your clit, and within moments he’s upgrading from one finger, to two, and soon enough you feel that addictive stretch as three of his calloused fingers thrust into you with the singular intention of ripping an orgasm from your sensitive flesh.

You no longer feel cold; instead, your nerves are on fire, and the feeling only increases as he lets go of your leg to reach up and palm roughly at your breast, rolling the nipple deftly between two fingers.

You shake hopelessly beneath him, fingers curling up to tug and push at his hair, pressing him deeper into you. It’s not until you begin to move against him, chasing more friction, that you feel a strange slight vibration.

You gather the strength needed to lift your head up and look down at him, and almost fall over the edge from the sight alone. Taehyung’s eyes are shut, but you can see the way his lids dance as he rolls them back and his brows knit. You quieten down a bit and can hear him moaning gruffly as he sucks at you, the entire bottom half of his face and the tip of his nose glossy with your wetness.

The thing that finally pitches you over the edge, however, as he crooks his fingers up inside you just right, is the way you can see him rutting up against the side of the bed, back muscles flexing as he desperately seeks out some friction.

Your body curls in on itself with the force of your orgasm, and you arch your back up, grinding against his face to prolong your pleasure. You’re pretty sure you hear him growl against you when you dig your ankles in as your legs tighten over his shoulders, but soon that sound is drowned out by your cries.

He doesn’t stop until you try and wriggle away from his mouth, pushing his head away, and when he pulls back, your legs slip limply from his shoulders and dangle over the side of the bed. You close your eyes for a moment and throw your arm over, catching your breath to the sound of rain hitting the roof. Once you finally feel yourself become coherent again, you sit up tiredly, humming in satisfaction, only to freeze the moment you look at Taehyung.

He’s stripping away his underwear, but before he gets the chance to you see a spreading shiny patch on the already-wet fabric, and your suspicions are confirmed when you look back up to his cock, which has a white sheen to it.

“Did you cum from eating me out?” you ask incredulously. “I thought… I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

Taehyung, still slow and smiley with the dopamine released from his orgasm, laughs breathily. “Of course I’m still going to fuck you. That pussy’s begging for my cock, isn’t it. Look at her.” He presses at your still-sensitive clit, and your legs clamp shut around his hand. He licks his lips, slips his hand back out, and brings his finger to his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. “Lie down, angel.”

You shuffle up and turn yourself so that your feet are under the covers and your head rests comfortably on the pillow.

Taehyung looks over you with curious eyes, tugging absentmindedly at his cock, pumping himself a few times to test his sensitivity. Your mouth waters at the fact that he’s already ready to go again, and he’s still as hard as ever. He sighs once, tugs the duvet back so it slips off the bottom of the bed, and pats the side of your hip. “On your stomach,” he commands softly.

Even after such a powerful orgasm, you find yourself growing wetter, excitement rising within you as you obediently roll over, shuffling down a little so that your head rests on your crossed forearms, blinking up at him innocently.

His eyes flutter and his mouth parts as his eyes run over you. You feel the bed dip as he gets on, one knee on either side of yours, and palms at the flesh of your ass. You let yourself relax, eyes closing naturally as he squeezes them, parting the cheeks to see what lies between.

Once his finger dips down, you bring your legs up slightly and part them, so that your ass is presented in the air for him nicely, but he tuts at you and uses a firm hand on the small of your back to push you back down flat. “I want you to feel all of me,” he explains, still massaging the tender flesh of your cheeks. His hand slides between you and the bed to press at your lower stomach. “Right here.”

You arch, yearning for more of his touch. “Taehyung, please, need you inside me already.”

Instead of replying, he just shifts himself, and uses the back of a hand to push your legs apart a little more, still keeping you flat against the mattress. When you feel him lining up against your entrance, you hold your breath in anticipation, only releasing it in a moaned sigh when he begins pressing into you.

The fit isn’t as tough to take as the first time, since he’s fingered you first, but the unique angle has your mouth falling open. You’ve never felt anyone this deep, and it seems like he’s bigger than ever as he just keeps going in further, splitting you apart.

Once he bottoms out, you moan brokenly as he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder. “Does it feel good? Hm?”

You swallow, and although your mouth feels dry, you’ve drooled onto your arm. “So full, Tae, I can’t.”

“Shh, angel, it’s okay, you can take it. We’ll go slow, yeah?” You cry out, feeling yourself trembling as he pulls out and thrusts in again, a fraction quicker and smoother than last time. He checks in again, and you nod jerkily. “That’s my good girl.”

Unlike last time, every single thrust is measured and hits deeper than you’ve ever felt before. You feel incapable of closing your mouth, and moans and drool alike fall out without you even being aware of it. It feels so good, almost more than you can believe, and by the way Taehyung grunts as he holds back, you can tell it feels good for him too.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he praises, “all for me.”

“Just for you, Tae,” you repeat back to him in a breathy whine, “god, I’m close already, how-? Oh, fuck.”

He begins to add a swivel of his hips every time he bottoms out, and when it causes your clit to rub against the rough cotton of his sheets, the added friction has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, coming undone from the pleasure. He pants and moans in your ear, just as loud as you are. “Fuck, you gonna let me cum in you again? Keep it in you the whole plane ride back so you’re reminded that no one back in your country can fuck you this good?”

You whimper helplessly at his words. “Tae, yes, fuck! Come in me, I want it!”

He begins to speed up as he gets close, and every thrust has a garbled moan tumbling out of your mouth, static jolts of pleasure pitching you towards an orgasm that feels like it’ll be more powerful than your first.

You feel a wetness on your neck, and realise it’s him sucking a hickey onto your skin, nipping and lapping at the sensitive flesh once he’s done. “Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he promises in a husky voice, “make you mine forever. You want that? Come back to me with your stomach swollen with my baby?”

Though you should be freaking out like last time he confessed in bed, the thought sends a violent shudder through you and you tip your head to give him more access to your throat, grinding as much as you can against him and the mattress, surrounded by pleasure on both sides. “Ah, I’m gonna cum, Tae, fuck!”

“Cum for me, angel,” he commands, and the two of you cry out simultaneously, going out of your minds as he wraps an arm around your stomach and holds you steady as he fucks into you with the last of his energy. You feel him spill inside you, so much that it trickles out of you even as he stays buried to the hilt inside you.

When he collapses, he tips the two of you onto your sides and wraps a leg around you, spooning you tenderly. You let your head rest against the pillow and try and catch your breath. Taehyung recovers first, and he whispers into the dark. “Please come back to me.”

Though he can’t see it, you close your eyes and smile blissfully. “Always.”

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