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mondaycoffee · 2 years

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Paint Nails n’ Get RAILED!

pairing: yangyang x reader

genre: f x m, smut, crack

word count: 16.6k

summary: At the suggestion of Dr. Lee, you find yourself setting up an appointment at Yangyang’s Paint-n-Go, Neo Therapy Practitioners’ very own nail bar! However, when you discover just how freaking expensive it is to get your nails done these days, your tech has an offer that you find difficult to refuse.

warnings: everyone has a foul mouth, so here’s your language warning! yangyang’s a little shit. he has his nails painted + a tramp stamp bc fuck gender conformity. there’s probably gonna be inaccuracies when it comes to pricing, but it’s supposed to sound ridiculous. also some inaccuracies about how a nail bar is run bc i don’t work at one </3

smut warnings: he’s a total perv, some switch!yang elements. [ wet dream: consent is not voiced (please don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable, do what’s best for you!), fingering (f), dry humping. ] foot fetish (im sorry, i just had to), oral (f), unprotected sex, hand stuff....

a/n: i am so, so, so, so thankful for z!!! she deserves so much love, and i hope i make her proud! also, sorry abt the length!!! i can’t shut up for some reason lmfao, i swear i only estimated this fic to be 7k at first…

taglist: @bubblegumjeon @mrkis @luxebeautystyle @vantxx95 @ablackbtsstan @multihoe-net @seraphinealana @cheryltooy96 @aquamxrina let either me or z know if you want to be added!

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Previously, on “Step on a Crack, Dr. Lee’s Gonna Break Your Back!”

Taking his right hand out of his pocket, he presents you with a business card. A complete contrast to the simplicity of Jeno’s, a completely black square with red accents. Before you get a chance to read what’s written, he speaks again. “That’s my colleague here at the complex. He’s actually right across the hall.”

Now given the opportunity, you find that Jeno has referred you to a nail bar. “And what is this treat you’re offering?”

“Well, if you’re ever interested in getting a manicure or pedicure, you’ll want to go to him. He’s the best in town, nobody does nail art like him,” He chuckles. “Let me know if you’re interested. I’ll ask him to give you a discount.”

-----

You stare at the sun from your bedroom window, watching diligently as it falls beyond the horizon. Transfixed even as it paints vibrant splotches across your vision. Blue, green, and purple abstract shapes swimming freely, colors only intensifying when you finally close your eyes and fall back onto your comforter.

Upon impact, you stretch out your limbs to brush the dying beams of light with your fingertips, cat-like, and fully indulge yourself in its warmth. The feeling is unparalleled, the type of relaxation that can be only achieved after working a long day in the cubicles. And it’s here, basking within the sun’s warmth, that you realize just how comfortable your life has become.

Up until a few months ago, moments like these were few and far in between. You were plagued by the pain day in and day out, currents of electricity shooting up and down your spine at the slightest movement, sparking throughout each of your nerve endings. It was enough to make you irritable, and you found yourself taking it out on everyone around you. Without the help of your helpful (read: annoying) coworker, you would have never addressed your issue. You’re not the type of person to seek out help for anything, no matter how dire.

Or, at least, you never used to be.

That was until you met Dr. Jeno Lee, a chiropractor overflowing with sophisticated charm and know-how. His reputation and expertise preceded him, and you cannot doubt its validity even for a second. He did fix you after all– just not necessarily in the way you had initially expected. Did he cure your alignment issues? Yes, ten sessions came and went without a single hitch. Did he blow your back out on the eleventh and every single appointment after that? Also yes.

It is surprisingly easy to get used to an arrangement like that. On top of that, Jeno is genuinely a really good guy. So good, in fact, that when he clarified with you that he wasn’t ready for a relationship and wished to focus on his career, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad at him. Sometimes things just happen that way, and you can respect his honesty.

It’s a good thing that you have going on with him, really good. And now that you’ve been properly taken care of, it’s admittedly harder for you to accept anything less. Yet you still seek that kind of quality within other people; you expect it and get let down each and every time. But it’s not like you’re lonely– you still see Jeno as often as you can. However, he is a rather busy man, and you find it difficult to booty call him, even on your most desperate of nights. Not because he is unwilling, but because he works so hard. Your conscience weighs in quite heavily, convincing you to type and ultimately unsend your messages each and every time.

Without Jeno as a secure outlet for your growing sexual frustration, you find yourself returning to the dating pool. A mistake, really, but what other choices do you have? Your free time has been filled with numerous blind dates, men met on dating apps or through friends, coworkers…but all of them seemed to fall short of the mark in one way or another. Whether that be due to their maturity (or lack thereof), or even something as simple as a failed connection, your attempts at finding love come to an embarrassing conclusion each and every time.

Perhaps the most woeful aspect of this whole ordeal was the absence of a fulfilling sex life. With your chiropractor, you found each and every one of your needs met and exceeded with incredible precision. However, outside of him, your suitors were unsatisfactory in, arguably, the most important area: the bedroom. Much to your disappointment, you had a knack for attracting partners who never seemed to know what to do. Men who wouldn’t know what the clitoris looked like if they had an anatomically correct model to compare it to, only fucking to their own completion before calling it a night.

Maybe before meeting Jeno, you would have accepted this sort of treatment as a reality. And just maybe you could have tricked yourself into being happy. But. unfortunately, it appears that lackluster intercourse no longer does it for you, even to the point of faking orgasms so that you can escape from unsatisfactory dates. You don’t even have it in you to finish yourself off when you get home anymore, all but collapsing when you drag yourself inside, feeling hollow and wholly unsatisfied. Despite having been fucked better than ever before, your appointments with the kind Dr. Lee has brought you more problems than you arrived with– the only blessing being your perfectly-aligned back.

All it took was a ring of your cellphone to bring you out of your stupor, and you fish for its location on your bed without opening your eyes. Digits finally brushing the device, you bring it up to your face to squint at the contact. Who would dare call you at this time of night? The moon begins to shine full and unobstructed into your room, a cool breeze rushing in through your open window and ruffling your curtains as you rise to a sitting position. On the third (maybe fourth?) ring, you finally register the name on display– Lee Donghyuck.

You cannot seem to free yourself from him, even outside of work he is rather demanding of your time and attention. Hell, your job should give you an official babysitting title at this rate. Without another second of thought, you tap the green circle to silence your ringtone…noticing too late that you had been FaceTimed, not called as you had assumed.

Haechan, you little– “Oh hey, took you long enough! Whatcha doing? Oh, who am I kidding, you’re not doing…any…thing…” He drags out the last word, eyes roaming your face through the screen. “Oh my God. No offense, but you look terrible.”

“It’s nice speaking to you too, Haechan.” If the tone of your voice isn’t a dead giveaway as to how you’re feeling, you’re sure the roll of your eyes perfectly punctuates it.

You watch as your coworker flops down onto his own bed, brown hair falling back and revealing an unblemished forehead. Producing a snack from somewhere off camera, he crunches noisily with a cheeky grin. “What? Did you expect me to lie to you? Me??”

“No, but you could’ve at least had the decency to sugarcoat it for me. Asshole.”

He pouts his lips at you. “Come on, what’s a little honesty between friends?”

You push out a loud sigh, letting the device fall to the bed and effectively putting Haechan out of sight. “What were you calling me about anyway?” Rolling over onto your stomach, you switch on your lamp to illuminate your room. “You didn’t call me just to insult me, did you?”

“Oh yeah!” Haechan says, voice now muffled by your mattress. “I was just calling to ask you how your appointments with J-Dog have been going, it’s been awhile since you’ve mentioned him.”

“J…J-Dog?”

“Um, yeah? Lee Jeno? Dr. Dreamy? Your chiropractor? The guy you see more often than your own family???”

You grab your phone to shoot him a disapproving look, propping it up against your headboard so you can see him. On the other side of the screen, your coworker wriggles his brows suggestively. “No, yeah, I got who you meant the first time. I could have gone my entire life without hearing you call him that.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes into the back of his skull. “Say that you don’t understand bromances without saying you don’t understand them.”

“He’s not your bro.”

“Okay, agree to disagree. Besides, you haven’t really answered my question.”

That’s the whole point, you’re trying to avoid his question. “It’s going well, my back is on the mend.” You explain, hooking your thumbnail under one of your front teeth. “We’re down to one appointment per month now. Mostly maintenance, just to make sure nothing flares back up.”

Haechan whistles, “Ah, you’re going through withdrawals. That’s why you’re acting so sensitive, right?”

“I am not.” Okay, maybe a little.

“Well? What are you going to do with all of this free time you have now? You’re a free woman!”

Oh, that’s right! A lightbulb flickers on inside of your head, and you slide off of your bed in pursuit of your purse. From the other side of the room, you can hear him call for you, loudly whining and asking what you’re doing. Despite hearing him, you decide to ignore him in favor of unzipping the bag and fishing through it for the object plaguing your mind– the business card you had received from Jeno all that time ago. You really should clean this thing out once in a while. After a few beats, your fingers finally brush the edge of a black square and you pluck it free from the mess, thumbing across the raised, scarlet lettering– Yangyang’s Paint-n-Go!

Bingo!

You tiptoe back over to your bed, finally making your way back into Haechan’s line of sight. “Where did you go in such a hurry?” He questions, your knees coming into contact with the mattress.

“Ah, sorry about that! I just remembered that Dr. Lee gave me something after one of my appointments.” You explain, lifting the card and waving it back and forth to gain his interest. “You reminded me.”

Within the screen, the man squints at the object in your grasp, trying in vain to make out the letters. Despite not being able to read it, he offers an impish smile, pressing his face to his pillow. “Yangyang, huh? Finally gonna do something about those nails of yours?”

How could he know that? You didn’t even let him get a good look at it! “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Haechan shrugs, bringing his free hand up to the camera. “I go there at least once a month to get my nails shaped.”

His hands do look rather well-kept. Nails rounded and trimmed to sit just below his fingertips, cuticles cleanly pushed back. Who knew that someone like him cared so much about small details like those?

You tear your gaze away from his hand, deciding to read the card in your hand aloud before sitting it aside. “Yangyang’s Paint-n-Go, Perfect Nails Without Fail? Why is everyone being so cheesy, is this a competition to see who can come up with the worst slogan?”

Withdrawing his hand from your line of sight, your coworker only offers a chuckle at your despair. “What makes you suddenly want to go get your nails done? Feeling self-conscious of your atrocious nail beds?”

“First of all, fuck off. Second of all, a friend of mine is getting married in a few weeks and I’m supposed to be a bridesmaid.” You’re also supposed to bring a date, but you don’t mention that part. “Besides, Dr. Lee mentioned that he could get me a discount if I got my nails done by his friend. Everything just aligned perfectly!”

“A discount?” He frowns playfully, narrowing his eyes at you. “Why didn’t I hear anything about that? This can’t be pretty privilege, or I would’ve at least heard about it!”

You flop over onto your back with a scowl and raise the phone screen to your face, hovering your thumb over the red circle that would end the call. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t hang up on you right now.”

“Because you love me?”

Click.

Your phone, still resting next to you from the call you just ended, dings, bringing your full attention to the texts you receive. Filing in, one at a time, all paired with that same annoying sound.

Lee Donghyuck (work): How dare you 😤😤

Lee Donghyuck (work): I expect an apology by tomorrow. Preferably in the form of a steaming cup of coffee on my desk.

Lee Donghyuck (work): OH and a donut 🍩🫶

You: We’ll see about that! 🤭

You: Goodnight, sleep well!

Lee Donghyuck (work): Night 💤💤

Sighing, you trade the cellphone in your hand for the business card cast aside during your earlier conversation. Upon further inspection, you notice that, while Dr. Lee attached the number for the front desk to his business card, it appears that the telephone number listed on this new card is different.

A personal phone number perhaps?

Well, that would make sense, a nail tech is not exactly a “professional” in the literal sense like a chiropractor. He could afford to be more relaxed in his practice, offering a more comfortable and personable approach to his work. His lack of professionalism is further solidified when you notice that he has each of his social media accounts attached to the card– all using the same handle: nails_by_yang.

You can’t help but feel curious. After all, Jeno didn’t really give you a chance to check him out before you showed up to his office. Yangyang, however, made it easy. Almost too easy. Tucking yourself snuggly under your covers, you allow your curiosity to get the better of you, pecking his user into Instagram.

You’re not sure what you expected to see upon viewing his account, but it most certainly wasn’t this. Of course there are a few pictures of his work, that was to be expected. Some nail art and the like, showing off his talent and progress. And admittedly, it is rather impressive. However, you didn’t expect that this would double as his personal account, displaying pictures of his day-to-day life and, most importantly, him.

Nestled between a picture of a particularly intricate, bejeweled acrylic set and some delicate, hand-painted nail art is a photo of him. Even from the thumbnail on the carousel of pictures, you can just tell he’s attractive and that he’s fully aware of the fact. It’s pretty safe to assume that his Instagram is a key part of his marketing strategy at this point, especially with a face like his. Almost shamelessly you find yourself feeding into the clickbait, tapping on the photo under the guise of curiosity.

The photo’s setting is admittedly plain, just a chair and an unblemished white wall filling up the area where he’s sat. Yangyang, who appears to be at the photo’s center, sits on the lone prop, thick thighs spread alluringly and hips jutting forward to assure comfort. His palm rests at the apex with a firm splay of fingers, sending your mind straight to the gutter. Your eyes rake his body, unabashedly taking in the visual of his gray sweats and plain white tee– nothing too daring,but fitted enough to entice. Paired with dyed-gray hair and “fuck me” eyes, you just know that this guy is gonna be a problem.

When you’re finally able to pull your gaze from the photo, you shake your head in an attempt to ground yourself. There’s no way you’re going to be able to face him confidently tomorrow with the thoughts consuming your tired mind. You swipe out of the app entirely and turn off your phone, switching off the lamp on your bedside table and surrendering the room to darkness…blissfully unaware that you misclicked on the way out, changing the color of the heart on the post from white to red.

-----

Your eyes flutter open as a cool, steady hand runs up your bare torso, leaving a flood of goosebumps in its wake.

Night maintains its claim on your bedroom, full moon the only light source within. You lay tucked warmly underneath your blanket, and, having been sleeping on your side, stare out your open window. It’s warm under the covers, but you feel the familiar, chilled glide of sheets against bare skin. Strangely enough, you don’t remember getting undressed. That realization alone should frighten you, but the absence of adrenaline pumping through your veins aids in steeling your nerves. You feel disarmingly safe, but that unmistakable feeling of a palm lingering on your skin, rhythmically trailing up and down, is hard to ignore. As if the person recognizes you’re thinking about them, an index finger dips into your navel momentarily on the way down this time, only to travel back up before it reaches any lower. All breath stills deep within your lungs at the feeling, burning when you refuse to exhale and bring fresh oxygen therein.

Slowly, absent of concern, you turn your head and peer over your shoulder. Curiously making eye contact with the owner of the caresses– the nail tech you’d only seen on Instagram for the first time last night. He’s here, no longer trapped behind a phone screen– at your house, in your bed, with you. You don’t jerk away from him, instead taking this time to commit his visage to memory. Your lack of fear is concerning, you know that you should be scared shitless by now. A man you don’t know is in your bed, yet the only thing you can think to do is stare at him. Classic you behavior. With the help of your lunar companion, your eyes have adjusted well enough that you can make out the poetic details of Yangyang’s face, details that photos will never quite do justice to.

A pair of eyes meet yours, sparkling with all the stars in the universe but swirling with darkness. His lips are pink, full, and parted with bated breath, exhales fanning hot across your face, and you find yourself drawing nearer to him. Attracting like the opposing ends of a magnet are sealed behind both his and your teeth. Upon locking gazes, his hand, now warmed by your body heat, comes to rest at your hip bone. Gripping firmly as if to keep you there, fingernails stamping crescents into your skin. You hiss at the feeling, finally broken from your trance, and halfheartedly try to pull yourself away from his form. His hand keeps you anchored in place, and you’re unable to move an inch. “What are you doing here?” The words that leave you are cautious, and your voice is meeker than you remember.

The man remains silent, much to your dismay. You’re not sure if he chooses not to answer you, or if he just didn’t hear you, but he presses in ever closer right as you open your mouth to ask him again. Even with the lack of distance between the two of you, you don’t close your eyes and neither does he. You’re locked in a stand-off of sorts with no real winner in sight. An unofficial staring contest is being held, and you’re darting from eye to eye, trying to read his intentions. Before you can even surrender to a blink, he tugs your body towards him and you fall flat onto your back.

For a minute or so you rest against the mattress, the stranger still somewhat pressed your side. Spooning you, yet your bodies are not fully touching. You feel the drag of his pant-clad leg against your calf as he turns further into you, lifting his hand once more. You watch his face as he slowly tugs at the blanket shielding your body, giving you the chance to halt his advances, but you don’t. And again, he touches you, hand rolling over your body like the tide. Pushing higher and trailing down, but never quite touching the intimate parts of your body.

He watches your face with utmost attention, gauging your reaction with each pass of his hand. Heat clings between your bare thighs, and a drop of slick rolls over the curve of your ass to join the growing patch on the sheets below. Your cheeks burn at the realization, clit throbbing and present when you clamp your legs together subconsciously. Nothing audible betrays your arousal though, thankfully, but you find your body keening almost traitorously into his touch. Yangyang’s mouth twists into a toothy, knowing grin, wordlessly continuing his painstakingly slow ascent. Instead of making his way back down again, this time the tech cups the underside of your right breast. Giving it a gentle squeeze and jiggling it, hungry eyes feasting on the way it moves with his guidance.

The cool air blowing in through the window suddenly reminds you of the loss of your comforter and sheet, nipples peaking and aching to be touched. A chill runs through your body, teeth chattering in both response to the cold and anticipation of what’s to come. He offers you another brief, small squeeze before trailing the tips of his fingers ever higher and halting right at the border of your areola. So close yet so far from where you desperately need him. “Hey. Are you going to touch me or what?” You huff impatiently, head turning from his face to watch his hand. Willing him to move with your eyes, hardened bud mere centimeters away from his fingers.

He exhales through his nose, a sound of amusement upon your desperation. Face coming to rest in the crook of your neck, teeth lazily dragging against the skin as he finally drums the pads of his fingers against your nipple. The reaction is immediate, your body nearly folding in on itself as a lick of pleasure shoots down to your core. A soft whine bubbles forth, your hands seeking purchase within his mussed, gray hair. His tongue falls out, laving generously at your throbbing pulsepoint, expertly rolling your bud between his forefinger and thumb.

A fresh wave of drooly arousal flows from your hole, and you go to rub your thighs together to ease the dull ache settling between them. However, as if sensing your next move, Yangyang wedges one of his legs between your knees, forcing them to remain open. In your depravity, you can’t help but let out another whine.

You’re starting to get greedy, the fingers in his hair tugging harshly at the roots. In retaliation, he only pinches your tender bud harder before moving to the other one entirely, twisting it to life. He trails openmouthed kisses down your neck, pausing momentarily to dip his tongue into your collarbone. The wet path that he leaves behind is cold once his mouth flees, seemingly having predetermined its destination. His lips find their home on your freshly neglected breast, sucking your sore nub into his mouth and swirling around it with a tortuously slow tongue.

The fitted sheet bunched up under your ass is surely soaked clean through to the mattress, and it clings to your lower back, saturated with the evidence of his teasing. He presses his once distant pelvis firmly against your hip, allowing you to feel just how much he’s being affected by your body, by you. Half-hard cock pressing along the seam of his pants insistently, rutting into you slowly but with purpose. While he uses your body to coax his confined length to full mast, he pulls away from your chest entirely. You suck your bottom lip in past your teeth, watching him intently even as you’re left momentarily neglected.

He doesn’t allow room for complaints this time, dominant hand making its descent yet again, blunt, painted fingernails dragging against your abdomen. Your pelvis jumps at the feeling, pathetically thrusting your cunt up toward his steady hand. He isn’t feeling the need to rush one bit, even as your body curves into his touch. No, he takes his time, mapping each piece of skin on the way down. The tech still hasn’t spoken a single word, but small grunts of pleasure begin to leave his parted lips as he fucks against you, petals slick with his own spit. You strangely want to kiss him right now, to taste him and commit it to memory. You want him to infest each corner of your mind, leave you broken and begging for more. To build you up only to break you again and again, bringing you into a state of bliss that only he can.

As if he’s able to read your innermost thoughts, he pushes in close again, mouth colliding with your open one with a force only rivaled by the merging of galaxies. His teeth knock noisily against yours, tongue rasping against the roof of your mouth. The hand on your stomach takes the final plunge, finding your puffy folds with an experienced ease. Blindly, his middle finger traces your wet slit. Up and down, collecting your essence until he deems it sufficient, and finally pushing beyond the surface. He runs his finger along the length of your sex, stopping for a moment to circle sluggishly at your engorged clit before traveling back toward your hole. At the proximity you clench around nothing, mouth only falling further open at the sensation. He swallows each of your sweet sounds, drinking them down like nectar and savoring the stuttering swirl of your tongue against his.

He makes no sudden moves, his longest finger surveying the topography of your cunt, flowing juices coating every bit of his skin it comes into contact with. You’re panting at his point, hot air filling his mouth, desperation flowing out of every pore. “Please, do something…” You beg, wiggling your hips to further entice him. “Need you.”

Your words are all that he needed, it seems, digit breaching your walls effortlessly due to the extensive preparation. Your hole immediately latches around the intruder, but he continues to slide into you at a deliciously slow pace despite the minute resistance. He gives you more than enough time to accommodate his measly finger, but once you begin to squirm against him he curls it up to calmly stroke at your g-spot with astounding accuracy. “F-Fuck…” The spoken word is shaky, barely audible, but it gives Yangyang the information he needs to keep going.

He pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back inside, palm smacking punishingly against your folds. You grasp at one of his shoulders, trying to keep yourself from losing touch with your surroundings. The tech continues the rough, slow ministrations, each blow sending delightful vibrations directly to your clit. Your release is approaching with frightening speed, and he seems to realize that with the way he avoids your sweetest spot.

His hips moving against your side, long since forgotten while lost in the throes of your own ecstasy, begin to shudder at the prolonged stimulation. With both of your ends drawing near, your moans grow in volume, staccato sounds pitching ever higher. Even Yangyang is unable to hold back noises of his own, filling your ears with the melodic sounds of his sighs. You feel the distinctive feeling of an orgasm coming, the pleasure you feel climbing to impossible heights. Higher, higher, and higher still. “O-Oh! Oh my fucking God, I’m cu-”

You sit up with a start, bedsheets twisted and hair clinging to your forehead with sweat. Fuck. It was all a dream, of course it was a dream. It felt so real, but it was nothing more than your unconscious mind filling the void in your fantasies with an attractive face. You slide a clammy hand through your damp locks, pushing them away from your face. Luckily, a breeze rushes through your open window to meet your damp skin and cool you off a bit. Just as it did in your dream, you note. You bask in the respite, chest rising and falling with each breath you take. Couldn’t you have slept a little longer? Did life always have to be this cruel?

If only you could dream a minute more…

The remnants of your dream are imprinted behind your eyelids, vivid and painted in technicolor. You attempt to wash it away with a splash of sink water, but it stubbornly clings to your lashes. Just as the taste of Yangyang’s kiss sticks to your palate, even as you guide your toothbrush along each tooth in an attempt to rid yourself of him. If the heat remaining in your cheeks and across your chest isn’t enough to embarrass you, the glide of arousal between your thighs definitely does the trick. Who even still has wet dreams at this age? You, apparently, that’s who.

Even though you have to make an appearance at your job today, you have plenty of time to call Neo Therapy to inquire about an appointment. That’s one of the perks of a “9-to-5”– it’s just late enough to make personal calls. In the past, you’ve utilized this time to stop by your local coffee shop to fill yourself up on caffeine, but you can do that tomorrow. Haechan’s “apology” be damned.

After getting dressed for the day, you move back into the bathroom to throw on the least bit of makeup. Hell, if you’re going to show up without Haechan’s donuts and coffee, you might as well go in style. Then you can at least look decent when Haechan hangs off of your arm in protest, whining like a toddler.

If there’s a time to call down to the shop and set up an appointment, now is as good as any. You slip the business card from the back pocket of your dress pants, tracing over the phone number at the bottom with your fingernail. Swiping your phone from the other pocket, you dial the number and put it on speaker, resting the device and the card on the counter space in front of you.

You have just enough time to unscrew the wand on your mascara before the ringing gives way to a raspy, playful drawl. “Yangyang’s Paint-n-Go! This is Yangyang, what can I do for ya?”

Your breath hitches. Even though you recognized that the number on the card was different from the one on Jeno’s, it hadn’t quite registered that you would be speaking directly to Yangyang. And now that you can connect a voice to last night’s fantasy, you feel warmth reigniting underneath your skin. Shame? Or, could it be leftover arousal from your resting fantasy? Likely both in this scenario. “Yeah, I was checking to see if you have any appointments available for around…” You hum, applying the mascara directly to your lashes. “Six o’clock? I don’t get off work until five, but I can definitely make it there within an hour.”

“Usually I close at around five,” He explains, sounding almost bored. If he was right in front of you, you’re sure that he would be studying his hands right about now. “But I think I can do that for you.”

“Oh really? That would be wonderful!”

“Mhmmm. What kind of services would you be looking at?”

You dip the applicator back into the tube to gather more product, sliding it up and down as you think. “I’m not too sure. Do you have any packages that you offer?”

There’s a long pause at the other end of the line. “No, what do you think this is, Amazon?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said not at this moment, but we do have the best prices around.” You can hear the smile in his voice. This guy has to be fucking with you, less than five minutes on the phone with him and the fantasy your mind created the night before is already shattered. Who are you to expect any less?

“Okay,” There’s a slight grit to your voice now, but you still attempt to remain cordial as you put the mascara away in favor of a tube of ruby red lipstick. “I’ll be around later then. You won’t forget about me, will you?”

“I promise you I won’t. I sit around after hours anyways, to go over my receipts and grab a quick dinner with my partner, Mark.”

“Partner..?”

“It’s not like that!” Yangyang’s quick to defend, voice raising in volume ever so slightly. The corners of your mouth quirk up, making it difficult to apply the lipstick smoothly. “He…he shares the workspace with me, no more no less!”

You draw the tube back from your mouth, rubbing your lips back and forth to distribute the product evenly. “Yes, yes. I’m sure that’s the case.” You dismiss his concerns with a heaved sigh. Twisting the color back down into the tube, you press the cap back onto the lipstick with a clack and retire it into your makeup bag. Seriously, what’s with men and their fragile masculinity?

He clears his throat, suddenly incredibly aware of how unprofessional he’s coming across. “Like I said, I’ll be here. We’ll talk about prices when you come in.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

After your call down to the nail bar, the rest of your day crawls along as per usual. Not a single thing is out of the ordinary. From Haechan whining about his lack of I’m-sorry-for-hanging-up-on-you coffee to your boss, Mr. Suh, nearly bursting a blood vessel over an impending deadline, it’s an understatement to say that you’re ready to be pampered by the time five o’clock rolls around. You nearly drag yourself through the doors of Neo Therapy Practitioners at five-thirty sharp, and upon entry, the youthful, friendly secretary immediately notices your presence despite the soft music coming from his “work” computer. “Welcome!” Jisung greets jovially with a mouth full of pancakes, wearing the sticky syrup on his chin. “What can I do for you today? Another appointment with Dr. Lee?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” You croon, offering him a tired smile as you approach the front desk. Once you reach him, you tug one of the tissues loose from the square box on your side of the desk.

He rolls his office chair from one side of his little box to the other with a push of his feet. Extending your hand, you offer the young man the tissue you plucked when he comes to a stop right in front of you, desk still separating you both. “Here– you have a little something…” You gesture toward your own chin, drawing little circles with your free hand. “Everywhere.”

Jisung jumps to his feet, knees knocking painfully against the hard wooden surface, accepting it awkwardly with both hands. A blush spans from his collarbone to the tips of his ears as he mumbles his thanks, turning his back to you so he can furiously wipe the offending sap from his face.

Cute...

When he finally faces you again, his face is clean of all traces of his meal, and he flashes a shy, boyish grin. “Okay,” He starts, seemingly shaken free from the shackles of his prior humiliation. “Let’s try this again: if you’re not seeing Dr. Lee, who are you seeing?”

“Liu Yangyang, I have a nail appointment at six.”

The secretary’s mouth rounds to a perfect ‘o’. “Oh, okay, that’s no problem! He’s actually located right across the hall from the clinic, I can walk you there, if you’d like?”

You accept his offer with a gracious nod, “Please.”

Jisung takes a moment to guide his chair back to where it belongs, pressing it under the coverage of the desk. Jiggling it to make sure it fits just right, and sighing when it doesn’t listen to him and continues to roll back. He gives up eventually, facing his still steaming plate, and dutifully covering his food with the plastic lid to discourage any wandering flies from making a meal out of it. You’re in no rush, so you allow him to do his thing, tapping your high heel-clad foot against the linoleum to no rhythm in particular.

He buzzes around like a honey bee for a beat longer, coming to stand at your side once he decides that everything is in order. Shuffling from foot to foot, he looks at you expectantly, wordlessly asking you if you’re ready to move out. Instead of giving him verbal confirmation, you decide to take a simple step forward. He matches your pace, long legs putting him in the lead as he guides you almost uselessly back through the familiar building.

You glance down at your fingers while you walk, eyeing the empty canvas that Yangyang’s about to come face to face with. Not the worst nails in the world, but most certainly not the best. They’ve definitely seen better days, and you should have been taking better care of them. And yourself, for that matter. Your mouth falls into a small frown, feeling the slightest bout of anxiety simmering within your stomach. It’s always a little difficult to face a new person, but with the corpse of last night’s dream still rattling about your skull, you don’t know exactly how you’re going to be able to act normal in front of him.

You nearly collide with Jisung’s back as he comes to a sudden stop, the tall, young secretary gesturing towards a door. “Well??? We’re here! Told you it was in familiar territory!”

And, sure enough, you glance across the narrow hallway and see the closed door that leads to Dr. L– Jeno’s clinic. A shiver runs through you, but Jisung doesn’t seem to even notice– or care, for that matter. Then you turn towards the new place, red neon ‘open’ sign hanging beside the door beckoning you in just as much as it pushes you away. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek until the familiar twang of blood rushes to meet your tastebuds.

There’s only a few steps more to the door, and you move to take them when you’re stopped by a warm, firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey.” He clears his throat, youthful face betrayed by a voice that’s pleasantly deep. “Don’t worry, Mr. Liu treats his clients well– you can relax! You’re in good hands.”

Suddenly you’re all too aware of just how fucking tense you are, and you force your muscles to relax. “Thank you, I really needed to hear that.” You gratefully reply, offering him a good-natured smile that he easily reciprocates.

“Anytime! His shop is right through these doors here. The register and front desk is on the left– not the right, that’s Mark’s. If Mr. Liu isn’t standing there, give the bell next to the sign in sheet a little ding.” He’s talking fast, and he’s already walking backwards as he speaks, trying to detach himself from the conversation. “Oh, and if you have any more questions you know where to find me! Please enjoy your visit!” Once he completely finishes his info-dumping, he turns on his heel, eager to return to his rapidly cooling plate of McDonald’s hotcakes.

After losing the comforting, familiar presence of Jisung, you find yourself unable to move any further. Risque images from last night’s dream flash in front of your eyes, as if shown to you on a slideshow presentation. Embarrassment consumes you yet again, squeezing your eyes shut to drown out the visions, but instead making them stand out against the backs of your eyelids.

You pace from side to side, hands nervously crossed along the underside of your bust. Step, stop, turn around. Step, stop, turn around. Shuffling back and forth hardly does anything to quell your anxiety. Why are you here? Is getting your nails done to piss off a few acquaintances worth the turmoil you’re going through right now? On one hand, you know that you shouldn’t base your choices upon bringing someone Hell. But the less rational side of you knows that just one look at Rianne’s livid face would be just enough to get work through whatever complex it is you struggle with. You’re sure of it. With that thought and that thought alone, you decide you have to do it– if only to give Rianne premature wrinkles and wipe that shit-eating grin right off her face.

You pull open one of the doors, and you’re swiftly greeted by the sound of an electronic chime. Unsurprisingly, the shop is completely empty with not even its owner to be found…he did say he was going to be having dinner, after all!

The room was filled with soft music playing from a speaker, some quiet instrumental with an acoustic guitar, but otherwise it was completely quiet. The room itself consists of one large room split off into two apparent sections: the front desk to the front left combined with a few chairs in front of it that make a small waiting area, the manicure station behind said desk, and the pedicure station right next to that.

Straight down the middle towards the back of the room was an entryway without a door, shielded only by a curtain of hanging purple beads– an area you assume to be the break room, where Yangyang said he would be at this time of day.

While you wait for someone to check you in, you make sure to fill out the sign in sheet, writing both your name and the types of services you want done. By the time you finish, you hear the tinkling of beads as the curtain is lifted to the side to allow someone to walk through. Your head shoots up to greet the stranger only for the words to get stuck in your mouth. The man entering the room was, of course, devastatingly gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than he had looked in your dreams.

Perhaps the most devastating part of it all is that he isn’t even dressed up. Wearing only a black oversized hoodie paired with some dark acid-wash jeans, it seems that he likes to keep it simple. While you’re shamelessly ogling him, he doesn’t even look up from the glowing cellphone in his hand, addressing you monotonously. “Hey. Sorry for being a little late, I was finishing up my dinner and filling out some receipts for Jisung. What can I do for you today?”

You swallow the knot forming in your throat. “Yes, I called this morning to set up an appointment for six o’clock??” You sound uncertain to your own ears, but you continue speaking nonetheless. “I was referred to you by Dr. Lee across the hall?”

His gaze rises to meet yours but not before raking slowly and shamelessly up your form. Once he looks you in your eyes, a smirk makes its way up onto his face. “Now I’m really sorry that I’m late.” He slides his cellphone into the pouch of his hoodie, finally reaching the front desk. “Have you had time to think about what you want?”

“I am definitely getting something done today, but I still want to look at the prices before I make my final decision.”

“Fair enough,” Yangyang opens a hidden drawer from behind the counter, pulling out a laminated sheet of paper and sliding it in your direction. “Here, I have my price list printed. Feel free to give it a read-through.”

—————————————————————

Yangyang’s Paint-n-Go!

Prices are negotiable and differ from case-to-case. Thank you for your understanding!

Manicure–

Regular Polish . . . $35

Gel Polish . . . $45

Acrylics . . . $70

Pedicure–

Regular Polish . . . $45

Gel Polish . . . $55

Mani-Pedi–

Regular Polish . . . Mani $35 | Pedi $45

Gel Polish . . . Mani $45 | Pedi $55

Waxing–

Facial Wax . . . $20

Arm/ Leg Wax . . . Part $20 | Full $40

Bikini Wax . . . $30

Brazilian Wax . . . $50

Add-Ons–

Scrub . . . $10

Hand/ Foot Massage . . . $20

Oils . . . $10

Gems . . . $1 per finger

—————————————————————

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head, finger trembling as it traces along the bottom of the third group of items on the list. “So you’re telling me I have to pay…” You squint at the price again, somewhat hoping that the numbers would magically shapeshift into something better. “$120 for a mani-pedi?”

“Mhm, that sounds about right.”

“And that’s with the regular polish??”

“Yup.“ The tech pops the ‘p’, watching your panic with mild interest. “$35 for the manicure and $45 for the pedicure.”

“That still leaves out $40? Where the fuck is that fee coming from?”

He flashes a white row of teeth, leaning down to come face-to-face with you, chin resting on his palm. “That’s the cost of using the polish and it factors in my tip.”

Your lips fold into a thin line. “I’ve never heard of someone ‘factoring’ in their own tip. Are you serious? What if you’re no good?”

“Oh trust me, I’m good. You just have to be willing to take that leap for me.” He says with a tilt of his head, tuft of silver hair falling across his dark eyes. “I wouldn’t charge this much if I didn't have complete confidence in my abilities.”

“And what about the discount Jeno mentioned?”

“I’m sure I can do something for you, but we’ll talk more about prices once we get things started.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he forks a veiny hand through his hair, skepticism flooding his tone. “M’kay?”

After a short pause, you close your eyes, tired. Your will to press the matter any further is dwindling fast, and you just want to get this over with so you can go home and have a much deserved glass of wine. “My feet better fucking sparkle after this.”

His smile returns scary-fast and his eyes widen approachably, almost as if the previous moment never happened at all. “Of course! I’ll take great care of you.”

“Oh yeah, that makes me feel so much better…”

Whether he heard you or not you’re not too sure, but he guides you beyond the front desk of his shop with a wave of his hand. You apprehensively wind your way around, coming to stand next to the chair he vaguely gestures at in passing. Yangyang unceremoniously drops down into his own seat across from you, staring up blankly through his fringe when you hesitate to follow his example. “What? Is there something wrong with your chair?” He cocks a brow, dragging out an overflowing tackle box from under his workspace and sitting it on the far side of the table.

“No?”

“Then what’re you waiting for? Come on, have a seat, I won’t bite–” The handsome tech pulls out a handheld file, a dremel tool paired with a few detachable heads, a tiny pair of cuticle scissors, and a cuticle pushing tool from the mystery box before stopping to flash a smug look. “Not unless you want me to, that is.”

You let out an unattractive snort at the notion, falling into the plush, olive green accent chair in front of you. It isn’t the most attractive piece of furniture you’ve ever seen, having been stained with various colors of polish and other mystery fluids over the time it’s been in his care, but damn is it comfy. Now that you’re on Yangyang’s level, you can better watch as he prepares his station, wiping clean the table with antiseptic wipes and laying out a surprisingly white hand towel. He nods in an attempt to get you to rest your hands upon it, pursing his lips when you struggle to do even that.

“What now? Do I have to walk you through everything?” Yangyang teases. He holds out a large hand, scrunching and unscrunching his fingers in a ‘gimme gimme’ fashion. “Give me your hand, I need to see what I’m working with before we begin.”

“But what if you think they’re ugly?” You blurt before you can think, biting down hard on your lips once the words escape.

He stares at you in silence for a moment before nearly doubling over in laughter. Howling uncontrollably even as you end his life over and over in your mind. Eventually he calms down, but not without a healthy dose of glares from your end. “Whew! I’m sorry, I’m sorry but that was too good!” Yangyang raises a hand to wipe away the imaginary tears pooling in his eyes.

“I didn’t think it was that funny.”

He leans back, slouching into a mismatched accent chair of his own– this one being an orangey floral pattern. “This is what I’m here for, Sweetheart. It doesn’t matter what they look like now, I will make your nails look good!”

“Besides,” He hums when you don’t respond immediately, leaning forward and pushing up both of the sleeves on his hoodie. Then, he offers his hand yet again. “I can promise you that whatever you’re afraid of showing me, I have probably seen ten times worse. So come on, let’s do this shit.”

You drop your right hand into his outstretched palm, letting out a heavy breath. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”

He grips your hand loosely, but he radiates a steady warmth. With gentle fingers, he maneuvers your hand with ease, examining each fingernail with utmost care. “Hm,” He starts, swiping his pink tongue along his lower lip in his focused state. “I can’t see why you were so nervous, you have such beautiful hands.”

“Thank you.” You find yourself murmuring, squeezing your eyes tightly shut, as if you’re subconsciously trying to hide yourself from the weight of his gaze. You cannot believe yourself, how can you get this flustered by his words alone? Get a grip!

He seems to pay you no mind, however, continuing his surveillance of your digits. Yangyang must be really serious about his job, and that much shows through the diligence of which he’s studying each nook and cranny. After a few seconds more, he reaches over to grab a metal instrument from the pile that he has prepared for you. It’s cool to the touch when he brings it close to your fingers, nearly the length of a pencil with a wider scoop-looking piece at the end. When he notices you staring at the object, the tech raises it higher so that you can get a better look. “I’m going to start by pushing back your cuticles. It makes the nail polish go on better.” He explains matter-of-factly.

You can only nod at his attempt at dumbing it down, allowing for him to continue with his work. “This isn’t going to cost me extra, is it?”

“For the average customer? Yeah, a service like this would cost about $10 for both hands.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when he finishes his statement, moving to tug your palm from his grasp. Yangyang keeps your hand held in place with a surprising amount of strength, “But, but, but! For you, it’s free of charge. Consider that a little gift from me to you!”

“Oh, wow, thanks…”

“What? Do you want to pay full price?”

You grimace, turning your head to avoid his inquisitive stare. “Erm…I mean, ‘Oh, wow, thanks!!! How could I ever repay you?’”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways…” He trails ominously with a sly smile, but says nothing more.

Your eyebrows nearly fly up to your hairline and you swallow dryly at what you can only imagine that he’s implying. And, just for a second, the tender grip he has on your hand transforms to that of your fantasies– the thumb swirling over the skin of the back of your hand a rough contrast to your own. His hands contain a delicious amount of texture, the subtle catch of his skin against your own is admittedly hard to ignore. “So, how did you get into doing nails?” You probe, trying to put out the flames licking in the pit of your stomach.

“I wasn’t any good at school,” He shrugs, giving your hand his utmost attention as he finally presses the metal cuticle pusher against your nail. “Decided to quit while I was ahead. I dropped out my senior year.”

You let out an affirmative sound, nodding along as he speaks. Making sure to let him know that you’re listening without stopping the flow of his speech. The tech runs the tool along the surface of your nail, scooting the offending cuticle back toward the proximal nail fold with a certain amount of precision that only an experienced nail tech could execute. “And after working a few retail jobs, I knew I couldn’t do that forever. I decided to look at my options.”

“So nails?” You ask, seamlessly switching hands when he finishes up his work on the first one.

Yangyang immediately gets to work on your untouched hand, and you only notice how cold your palm is when it’s snuggled between the two of his. “Yeah, nails. You can make a lot in one day, especially if you’re good at details. Besides,” He looks up at you through the silver fringe of his hair, eyes twinkling with mischief. “There’s no lack of gorgeous women coming into my shop. You can say that I keep myself plenty entertained.”

“I can see that, but do you actually enjoy what you do?”

He comes to an abrupt stop, seemingly taken aback by your words. “I mean, yeah??? I like seeing the results of my work, like seeing how much of a confidence boost it gives my clients.”

You leave him uninterrupted for a while to give him time to catch up on his work, swiftly and gently pushing back all the cuticles on your remaining hand. Yangyang takes his time to double check his work, carefully fixing anything that was even slightly under the standard he set before he deems it time to move on to the next step. “Well, that’s all that matters.” You hum thoughtfully as he drops the tool in his hands in favor of a tiny pair of scissors. “If you could go back in time, do you think you would make the same choice?”

This time he doesn’t even hesitate before speaking, pulling down the bendy arm of his lamp and moving it closer to your hand to better illuminate his progress. “Without a doubt. Like I said, I wasn’t exactly the smartest guy, and I really do have pride in what I’m able to do here.”

You don’t try to press the matter any further, allowing him time to neatly (and painlessly) snip the skin from around each of your fingernails. 20 minutes with him and your nails are already looking far better than they did before you walked in. Go figure, he does do this for a living, after all! The two of you sit in relative silence, the music pouring from the speakers being your only company as he really hones in on his craft.

After minutes of silent work, he finally looks up at you as he lifts the emery board to your overgrown fingernails. “So? What kind of shape are you looking for? And what kind of polish?”

“I’m not entirely too sure what color I want, but I would like my nails rounded out. And, as for the paint type, give me the cheapest option– I don’t want to spend more than I have to.”

“You don’t know what color you want?? Are you here to get your nails done for any specific reason?” Yangyang presses. He guides the nail file across the tip of your nail, using the experienced movements of his hand to coax a gentle curve out of the shapeless form.

You bury your teeth into your lower lip, debating exactly how much you should share with him. It’s a little embarrassing to what lengths you’re willing to go just to impress your peers. “Ah, it’s my friend. She’s getting married in a few weeks.”

“Color scheme?”

“I think she said something about the bridesmaid dresses being red. What would even go with that?” You furrow your brows, releasing your lip.

The tech doesn’t seem too concerned, lifting your hand tenderly to allow you to see his progress. “How’s this? The length?”

“That looks good to me. But you’re missing the point, wh–”

“I know what I’m doing.” Yang interrupts with a small sigh, returning the file to the stack of items at his disposal. He stacks his now free hand atop yours, sandwiching it warmly between both of his in a soothing manner. “So stop worrying and let me do my job. Please?”

You close your mouth resolutely, offering him a small nod. He grins at your compliance, “Now, gel paint? What do we think?”

“So you can charge me out the ass? No thanks.”

“Again, for you, I can bring it down to regular polish price. Gel lasts longer, and it’s stronger.” Yangyang explains. He’s gesturing animatedly as he speaks, knocking pointedly against the table. “Hard as a rock. Though, these nails likely won’t last you until the wedding. No matter what polish you choose, you’ll still have far too much growth to wear it until then.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, not having thought that far ahead. He’s absolutely right, of course he is. “What should I do, then?”

“What should you do? Come back, of course! I can redo them again closer to the wedding. Treat today as a ‘trial run’, so to speak. I can practice the design, and you can see what kind of quality to expect for the wedding. Simple!”

“Yeah, except it’s not that simple, and I’m not exactly made of money.” You grumble, sliding your hand from his grasp. “I only came today because I was told that I could get a discount!”

Yangyang hums, leaning forward in his seat, placing his chin on his palm and elbow on the table. He’s definitely not taking your words too seriously. “So you mean to tell me that it wasn’t my good looks and talent that brought you here?”

You flash him an unamused look, and earn a smug grin in return. He reaches across the table with his free hand, unintentionally giving you time to look at his black polished nails. They’re chipped from the hands-on work he does at the shop, and well-trimmed. Before you get the time to look any longer, he snatches one of your hands again. “Come on, let me work. I think I have an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

You hold eye contact with him, and his gaze is warm and unwavering. From the look in his eyes, you can tell that he already knows that he’s won. You sigh and allow your thumb to trail across his skin gently– in a similar fashion to how he had earlier in the appointment. “Okay, fine.”

He blossoms under your touch, eyes glittering and delectably tanned skin warm where it meets yours. “I won’t let you down.”

You’re not exactly sure how much longer you’re in that space with him. Minutes feel like hours and hours feel like mere minutes, you find that time is slipping above and around you until it consumes you entirely. Talking with your tech has that effect on you, and it’s easy to find yourself growing more open and free with your words.

You feel as if you have known him forever.

Yangyang’s soothing touch and steady hands coax a beautiful design out of each of your nails, painting red geraniums atop a nude base. “So?? What do you think?” He asks, layering on a final glossy coat and cycling your hand under the UV LED lamp to dry.

“It looks…” You trail, breathlessly examining your finished hand. “Beautiful. Absolutely stunning, Yangyang.” Just as you knew it would be, but you don’t let that part meet his ears.

“Ah, so you do know my name.” He stands slowly, bones popping from the long time he spent sitting with you. “I like the way it sounds coming from your lips.”

Your heart flutters weakly in reply to his words, and you slide your hand free from the light to follow him to the next station like a lost puppy. Noticing that you had clambered to follow him, Yangyang gestures to the open seat and hands you a remote, “Here, get comfy while I draw the foot bath. If you press the buttons, you can turn on the massage chair and get it the way you like.”

You let out a noise in understanding, stepping out of your black pumps and leaving them neatly beside the chair. After doing that much, you’re left with the feeling of your sheer tights-clad feet touching the cool linoleum. Wait, how the fuck are you going to pull your legs out of these without flashing your tech? While you stutter around, stuck in your thoughts, Yangyang immediately notices the source of your silent struggle with amusement. “I’m sorry,” You mumble, looking away awkwardly. “Do you mind turning around for a bit?”

“Not at all!” Without an ounce of hesitation, he drops everything he’s doing to show you his back.

You fumble momentarily with the fabric, but once you grasp the hose, you tug them from under your skirt in one go. Once you finally get them down and over your feet, you make sure to flip them the right way and pile them atop your shoes for later. True to his word, when you look at him again, Yangyang patiently awaits a verbal declaration that you’re ready. His broad shoulders and the fluffy back of his head are the only thing you can see. “Okay, you can turn back around now.”

He faces you on a dime, burning gaze daring to meet your bare calves and trace up to where your skirt cuts off just above your knees. Wetting his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, the tech turns his attention back to the tub. Then he cuts on the faucet, testing the temperature with his hand. You move to take your seat in the massage chair, but you’re hit by a cloud of something sweet in the air…vaguely floral. “Mm! That smells so good, what’s the scent? Wildflower?”

“Honeysuckle,” He supplies, shutting off the water and watching as the steam rises from its surface in clouds. “It’s epsom salts, we get it from a good source here at Neotherapy for next to nothin’! I added it prior to running the water so it would mix better.”

You drop yourself into the oversized chair, pressing your body flush to the backrest. Then, after messing around with a few of the buttons, you finally get the damned thing to turn on. And, Hell, you could’ve used this earlier. Once it starts vibrating (just the way you like), you feel as though you’ve glimpsed baby Jesus himself. Breaching Heaven’s gates, your eyes nearly roll back into your head when the vibration penetrates a particularly sore muscle. Delivering a dose of pressure to your back that is equal parts pain and bliss.

While you’re getting lost in the mind-numbing comfort dealt to you via massage chair, Yangyang’s drumming his fingers on the side of the tub absentmindedly, quietly allowing you to enjoy what the chair has to offer. But his patience does have an end, it seems, when he interrupts your trance with a statement. “It does feel pretty good, huh? I find myself sitting there on slow days.”

“Oh really?” You say, voice vibrating at the same frequency as the chair you’ve all but melted into.

He can barely contain a smile, lips taut with effort. “Yeah, sometimes I’ve even fallen asleep there, and I only wake up after a customer rings the bell up front.” Your laugh is nearly obscured by the hum of the massage chair, but he relishes in it anyway.

Now that the water is seemingly ready, you hesitantly skim the surface of the pool with your big toe. After ensuring that the temperature is not going to boil you alive, you slide in and let the water consume your feet entirely. The relief is instantaneous, head rolling back and a soft moan pressing through the seams of your lips.

Your tech stiffens ever so slightly at the noise with a sharp inhale through his nose. However, through the veil of pleasure (delivered via massage chair), his reaction doesn’t register in your mind. Instead you’re babbling about how good the chair feels, and that you should buy one for the office.

Yangyang cannot help but feel endeared by your chatter. Smiling as he opens a small unlabeled bottle from beside the pedicure station, he pours a small pool into his cupped hand. With curious eyes, you watch as he rubs his hands together, warming and distributing the glistening liquid all over his hands. “What is that?” You ask in a small voice.

“Essential oil. It’s the same kind as the epsom salts, so don’t worry about the scents not mixing right.”

You hum with tired eyes, giving him a curt nod. “Ah, I see. Why are you using oils?”

“I’ll be massaging your feet and calves. It’s good for improving blood flow and circulation!” Despite sounding articulate to the untrained ear, the more you’re with him, the more you realize that his ‘knowledge’ sounds rehearsed. It’s almost like he’s reading it off the back of a cereal box.

“Mmh. Okay, just be careful, I’m ticklish!”

He dismisses your concerns with a wave of his hand, shiny oiled palms brushing the meat of your right calf. “I personally like to start with legs. The feet are far too sensitive to touch first anyway.”

The apparent innuendo falls upon deaf ears, the shaking of the massage chair scrambling each coherent thought. Though you give no response to his statement, his trained fingers dance up the skin of your calf before trailing back down– just as he had done to your torso in your dream the night before.

You find your heart fluttering at the simple touch, but there’s no way of Yangyang knowing how your body reacts to him. Seemingly unbothered, he adds the slightest bit of pressure to his fleeting caresses. Penetrating the muscle, fingertips coaxing out tension you didn’t even know that you had.

The pressure of his hands paired with the vibration of the chair makes for a lethal combination. Your mind wanders to places it shouldn’t. Suddenly all too aware of the thickness of his fingers and the fullness of his lips. Have his eyelashes always been this long and dark? Just as you try to remember, a chuckle comes from deep in his chest and he looks up at you, clearly amused. “What,” He cooes, blunt, painted fingernails raking gently down your shin. “Are you just realizing how handsome I am?”

A burst of air leaves your lungs– a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In your sputtering, you somehow find it in you to roll your eyes at him. “Shut up. Keep working if you want to get paid.”

“Yes Ma’am…” He doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

And, for a while, the two of you sit in relative silence. The massage chair is turned off in favor of the music flowing from the speakers, and his hands gradually move from your legs to your feet. He takes extra care with your lowermost extremities, not leaving even a single patch of skin untouched. An office worker like you really could get used to this. His eyes refuse to leave the area where his fingers meet your foot, and with the pressure he is applying you’re sure that his fingerprints have been left all across your lower body.

Yangyang’s entranced, it seems. The repetitive movements of his hands trapping him deep within a state you affectionately call ‘work mode’. “So,” You start with a clearing of your throat. “What about the discount? You said that we would talk about it, and I’ve been very patient with you.”

“Discount?”

“Yeah??? You know, money off the final product? Discount?” Your voice takes on a teasing lilt, tilting your head as you peer down at him.

His hands come to an abrupt stop. “I know what a discount is. I’m a dropout, not stupid.”

“Come on, you said you would talk about it.” You hum, wiggling your toes to get his attention.

He eyes your moving digits with an unreadable expression. Appearing to be choosing his next words very carefully, you feel the rough pad of his thumb drag against your foot. “I think there’s something I can do for you…”

“And what would that be?”

“Hear me out–“

“I don’t like the way you’re approaching this conversation.”

“No, I’m serious. I want you to shut up and listen.” Yangyang exhales through his nose, somewhat irked, delivering a barely-there pinch to your calf that has you nearly jumping from your seat. “Can you do that for me, Sweetheart?”

Your mouth snaps shut in turn, head dumbly bobbing up and down and lips pressed tight. The tech soothes the faint mark he left behind with a gentle stroke of his hand, kissing the back of his teeth. “What if I told you that I could give you 20% off the final purchase...” He calmly states, eyes not leaving the place where his hands meet your skin.

“Oh my God, that would be wonderful!” You clasp your palms together, smile pulling up at your cheek bones.

“You didn’t think that was all, did you? Getting that much money off comes at a price.”

Your heart sinks. He’s right, how could you be so stupid? It’s not like you were going to waltz in here and automatically receive special treatment just because you fucked his coworker. You should have been more realistic… “Name your price.”

A smile claims his features, wolfy in nature. “I guess I can cut to the chase,” Yangyang starts jovially, lacking any semblance of tact. “I think you have the most beautiful feet!”

“Thank you?”

“And I want to have your toes in my mouth. Respectfully.”

Your smile drops, “What?”

“That’s my deal, 10% off per foot. I get to suck on some toes, you get more money in your pocket, it's a win-win.”

With that much money being taken off and how gorgeous he is, it’s an absolute steal. However, you also realize that it sounds completely and utterly insane.

But you don’t really have much of a choice now, do you?

“I’ll do it…”

-----

Apparently he’s not too keen on wasting time, because it’s not too long before he springs into action. He wraps his long fingers around your ankle, tugging you roughly to the edge of your seat. “Fuck,” Yangyang rasps, trailing his nose upward along the arch of your foot. “I’ve thought about doing this ever since you walked through the front door with those pretty fucking heels you were wearing.”

At the end of his sentence, his tongue falls out, pressing in and out of the valleys between your toes. You gasp and nearly jerk your foot away at the unfamiliar feeling, ticklish, but he keeps you anchored in place with a firm hand. Hollowing his cheeks, he pulls your big toe into his mouth with a harsh suck. Your face burns, embarrassed at the feeling, but you can’t ignore the tingle settling in between your thighs. “Stop!” You sink your teeth into your lower lip. “That’s dirty.”

Your tech only hums, tongue swirling around the digit before sliding off with a lewd ‘pop.’ He smacks his lips, pupils blown with lust as he looks up at you. “How could something that tastes this fucking good be dirty, Baby?”

He presses a chaste kiss to the sole of your foot, nuzzling his nose against you once more. “So? Do you want that discount or not?”

Your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish out of water. Yangyang watches you with rapt attention, eyelids heavy and falling low as he changes directions to mouth along the top of your foot. He reverently makes sure that every centimeter of it has been fully acquainted with his lips and tongue. Chill of the air ever-present in the areas where his mouth leaves patches of saliva on your skin.

When you fail to answer, you feel the distinct scrape of teeth along one of your tendons. “What, you’re acting like I’ve fucked you stupid and I’ve barely even touched you.” He chuckles, pressing a few tongued kisses to the pads of your toes. When you flinch in his hold, Yang’s enthusiastic grip pulls you even closer, nearly causing you to fall out of the massage chair entirely. “Did you forget how to speak?”

“P-Please!”

His mischievous smile only broadens, ducking down again to lick a fat stripe along the underside of your foot. “Please what? I can’t read your mind, pretty girl, I’m gonna need you to tell me exactly what you’re trying to say.”

“Want it…” You mumble, voice barely audible despite the proximity.

He punishes you with a nip of his pearly teeth against your heel, glittering eyes burrowing holes into yours. “Louder.”

“I want the discount!” You yelp, maneuvering your foot within his grasp to press your first three toes insistently against his plump lower lip.

Yangyang’s jaw drops to welcome the intrusion, dextrous tongue laving generously over and around each digit. A warm, torrential shiver wracks your body at the feeling, every nerve ending in your body responding eagerly to his touch. Once he deems them wet enough, he closes his lips around several of your toes and suctions them deeper.

You’ve always known that your feet were a tender area, no doubt. However, you never thought about just how sensitive they could actually be. Each pull of his lips and bob of his head sends a lick of delicious pleasure directly to your cunt, and you can feel exactly how, and where, the seat of your underwear sticks to your folds.

Naturally, your thighs part. The pencil skirt you meticulously chose for your shift rides further up your legs the more you spread. Yangyang’s eyes, after holding your gaze most of the day, draw a painfully slow path down to your center. “White?” The tech’s lips are flushed red and shiny with drool when he pulls away from your feet long enough to speak. Is he seriously talking about the color of your underwear right now? “Fuckin’ cute. Is all of that for me, Sweetheart?”

As if to answer all of your unspoken questions, he puckers his lips to blow a stream of cool air directly at the (embarrassingly) wet spot pooling from the source. Instead of clamping your thighs shut like most people would, the space between your knees only widens. You nod dumbly at his question, licking your lower lip into your mouth.

With a quirk of his lips, he looks up at you unapologetically from the space he’s claimed between your legs. Yangyang’s fingers, once latched around your ankle, now play with the hem of your skirt. He drags a painted fingernail along the space where it meets your thigh, eyeing you like a predator stalking its prey. “I know I’ve promised you 10% off per foot, but, to put it plainly, I don’t think that’ll work.”

Your face wrinkles in confusion, “W-What? Why not?”

“Because…if I do this for too much longer I’m gonna fuckin’ cream my pants like some high school virgin.” He says crudely, shooting an unashamed look down to his jean-clad crotch.

Your gaze follows his, and you let out a soft gasp when, sure enough, you notice the imprint of his cock. He’s only at half-mast, but it strains miserably behind his zipper all the same. “But what about the rest of the discount?”

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” His tongue clacks condescendingly against the roof of his mouth. “I can think of a few ways you can receive that other 10%, Baby, but are you smart enough to figure that out for yourself? Or, do I need to walk you through everything?”

Your cheeks burn hotly, but you shake your head in defiance. Yangyang narrows his eyes playfully at your display, watching your every move with interest. Your once idle hands meet the edge of your skirt, pulling it shamelessly higher and revealing more of your lower half, much to his delight. Like a little boy catching the first glimpse of wrapped presents beneath the Christmas tree, he leans in ever closer, round nose nearly prodding at the slick spot in your cotton underwear. “Now this is what I’m talkin’ about!” He praises with a cheeky grin. “Do you mind if I..?”

“Just do it!” You bite, tone coming out a bit needier than intended.

As soon as the words leave your pretty, lipstick-stained lips, you know that you’ve made a mistake. “Now what do we have here,” He tuts, leaning back onto his heels. Yangyang’s hands withdraw from your skin, making you feel even colder than before after having lost his warmth. “I thought you were gonna be so good for me, what happened to that?”

“I am!”

“You are what?” He questions slowly, tasting each word in his mouth.

“I am good…for you.” You say feebly, looking down at him with unfocused eyes.

Immediately, as if he found your words funny, he flashes his top row of teeth. “Are you? Good girls don’t make demands, they take what they’re given.” Those very same teeth trace at your thigh, eying you carefully through his fringe. “Can you do that?”

“Yes...” You agree shakily, reaching lower to shove an idle hand through his silver locks.

Instead of pushing you away, he leans further into your touch and rewards you with a depraved sound of his own. Now that’s something to behold. You stroke the head in your lap like it’s a stray cat– carefully, regarding him as if he will bite at any moment.

And then he does.

His lips come in contact with your folds, unapologetically stamping a spit-slick kiss into the fabric covering your lower half. However, at this point, the sheer amount of arousal being produced leaves very little to the imagination. Your lower body jolts at the suddenness of the tech’s touch, but his hands come up seemingly out of nowhere to anchor you in place. Eyes dark with intention, wordlessly daring you to defy him.

Yangyang’s bubblegum pink tongue slips past his teeth to prod at the valley of your cunt, pushing your underwear to its limit, forcing more of your juices to seep through to meet his tastebuds. It’s pornographic, the way his eyes roll back into his skull when he finally registers your heady taste. His breath is hot, rolling across your skin in thick, invisible clouds.

Expert hands glide over your thighs and up over the swell of your hips, carefully reaching its destination over the waistband of your panties. He drums his fingers there, commanding attention. “Can I take these off?” He asks, his voice rough with arousal.

“Please.” Your voice is damn near a whisper, but it appears that this time, at least, he doesn't require clarification.

He hooks his middle digit under the elastic, guiding it down your legs. Then, after it’s freed from your ankles, he swiftly pockets the sodden material with a salacious wink, leaving you with no room to complain. However, your mind hardly registers the movement at all.

Reaching out with careful fingers, the tech spreads your folds with a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. “So fuckin’ pretty,” He comments, readjusting his hand to broaden the part. Then, as if acting on impulse alone, he collects some of your dew onto one of his fingers, popping it into his mouth. Yangyang groans, his reaction immediate. “And sweet too. So, so sweet.”

“For you!” You blurt out, head cloudy with desire. You need him.

“Is that right, Sweetheart?” You’re able to hear his grin before you see it. “All for me?”

You’re lying. You know you’re lying, but there’s not even an ounce of hesitation in the way you nod your head. An enthusiastic group of up’s and down’s. Even if it’s just for tonight, it’s all for Yangyang.

Only him.

If the tech’s caught on to your lies, however, he doesn’t let it show. You’re rewarded with a low sound from the back of his throat before he’s leaning in to drink directly from the source. He flattens his tongue, running it up the full length of your cunt, stopping just shy from the bundle of nerves at the top.

The contact alone is enough to make you clamp your thighs around his head. This does little to deter him, his movement hardly restricted as he slurps greedily at your entrance. Once he takes in enough air to have his lungs screaming, he’s exhaling dramatically against your folds. Only mere seconds before taking in more dizzying inhales of your heady scent.

You squeal in embarrassment and throw your head back, hard, against the leather backrest of the massage chair. He looks up at you with a shimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if brought out of his lust-induced trance by your clumsiness alone. Somehow, it seems as though he knows every way to bring out even the most shameful sides of you with a well-versed swipe of his tongue.

His wet muscle circles at your hole, prompting you to tug at his hair with a soft keen. The tech hums against you but says nothing, darting the tip of his tongue inside of you. The penetration is brief, but it's enough to have you letting out a few stray whimpers. Another dose of decadent pleasure runs up your spine, and your legs, anchored around his shoulders, pull his face closer to your lower half.

Up towards the button of nerves he’s been neglecting this entire time.

But instead of allowing himself to be guided, he pulls back slightly to look directly into your eyes. His lips, sinfully slick with your essence, pull back into a toothy grin. A signature of his, you’ve discovered. “Don’t worry, I know where your clit is, Sweetheart.” Yangyang’s eyes flit lower, presumably to where your abandoned clitoris vies for his attention, throbbing. “I’m just having my fun. Indulge me.”

The lack of proper stimulation is enough to have you staring impatiently down at him, eyes nearly crossing as you try to find him through your arousal-induced haze. He rolls eyes up towards the ceiling, snickering and jolting you fully alert with a kiss directly to your clit. The brief contact is enough to have your breath stilling deep within your chest, hole fluttering pathetically around nothing.

Before you can anticipate much more, he shrugs free from your legs and bats away your desperate grip on his hair. You sit up, watching him with curiosity as he moves away from where you lay. Lower half bare and exposed to the coolness of the room around you, yet feeling pleasantly flushed with arousal from the teasing you’ve been receiving all night…only to have it taken away. “What are you doing?” You croak, voice sounding rough, yet vulnerable, from disuse.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yangyang quips, moving to stand from where he was perched on his knees. He adjusts the tent pitched in the front of his acid wash jeans, leering down at you with a predatory glint. “I have to get undressed to fuck you, y’know. I’m not really a ‘whip out my cock and go’ kind of dude. Sorry.”

The rush of blood pumping from your racing heart thunders in your ears. If it wasn’t apparent earlier, it’s all coming into focus now: you’re about to have sex with him. Liu Yangyang. The nail tech at Neo Therapy. In the office right across the hall from the last man you fucked.

Super.

He steps towards the chair you had been sitting in earlier, innocently getting your nails done, completely unaware of the direction it was headed. Now feels like a far cry from then, even though it couldn’t have been longer than half an hour ago.

Yangyang crosses his arms in front of him to tug at the bottom of his hoodie; even with his back to you, you scan each sliver of skin revealed to you like a person starved. As if feeling the weight of your stare, the tech moves slowly without even tossing you so much as a glance over his shoulder– deliberately drawing your attention in further.

Seated between the two dimples on his lower back is a delicate-looking butterfly tattoo. There’s nothing special about the design, not much more than some line art of the insect, but it’s intriguing enough that you almost forget to look at anything else. Almost.

The muscles in his back ripple as he tugs the heavy fabric over his head, letting it fall into the polish-stained seat of the chair without much care. After a long beat of silence, your curiosity gets the best of you. “Hey, the butterfly on your back, does it mean something?”

“Nothing really,” He offers you a breathless laugh, undoing the button on his jeans with one handed ease. “I guess it was an act of rebellion when I finally left home at 19. It meant so much to me when I got it, but now it feels a bit silly.”

“It’s not silly, it’s…actually really nice.”

“I’m glad you like it, my dad nearly kicked my ass when he first saw it. I swear I’ve never seen his face get that red in my entire life!” Yangyang fumbles the rest of the way out of his jeans, one of the pant legs getting stuck comically around his ankle. “I thought he was going to skin me alive and hang me from the flagpole!”

When he is finally free from his denim prison, he tosses it into his small clothes pile and leaves his black tennis shoes where he stepped out of them to come back to your side. He doesn’t, however, take off his socks, which is only mildly concerning. Now that the tech has returned to where you are seated, you get a good look at the impression of his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs. He’s not too long, standing at around average length, but the girth alone is something to shy away from.

When he notices you studying him, he raises a playful, arched brow, gentle palm coming up to cup the side of your face. “Like what you see?”

You nod and hum sweetly, leaning in to nose along his length. You take your time to inhale gulps of his scent, salty with sweat, and your action elicits the most primal of noises from the back of his throat. “Fuck,” He croaks, biting down harshly on the plump flesh of his lower lip. “If I wasn’t about to bust a nut just looking at you this close to my cock, I would want to see how pretty your lips would look, stretched and struggling to take it.”

You moan in response, and his thumb slides from its perch on your face to streak the remnants of your cherry red lipstick across your cheek. He smiles wide, pearly glint of teeth almost entirely humorless. “So fucking pretty. Hm, I guess we’ll have to save that for your next appointment. We have to leave some things to the imagination, don’t we?”

There’s an impatience in the way Yangyang rids himself of his underwear under your watchful stare. Under any other circumstance, you would probably tease him for his shaking hands and the silly way he kicks the fabric airborne to God knows where. Right now, though, you find your throat impossibly dry, and you swallow hard in a desperate attempt to wet it as you watch his length spring free from its confines.

He wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a few leisurely pumps, his eyes zeroing in on your glistening lower half still seated in an embarrassing pool of slick. “I don’t have a condom on me, is that cool? I’m clean, I get tested regularly.”

“Mhm,” You reply breathlessly. “Just fuck me, please, I need to feel you.”

He nods once, resolute, those words all he needed to hear before he moved in. Yangyang’s hands are heavy on your hips, pulling you closer to his torso and sliding you further down on the chair. Fuck, your neck is definitely going to be hurting in the morning. Then, one hand leaving your body, he holds his dick to gently run the head through your puffy folds. He collects your arousal, careful not to slip inside just yet, but he prods at your clit at the end of a slow swipe. Simultaneously, the pair of you shiver at the stimulation, and it’s almost as if you were connected to the same live wire. Electrifying.

After a few more passes of his cock it seems that even he is tiring of the teasing, so he finally, finally breeches your walls. A sweet moan tumbles from your mouth, low and unrestrained, and he hisses in response. “God, you’re gripping me so tight, are you sure that you’ve been fucked before?” He groans, head falling to meet the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “I’ve barely even gotten the tip inside and you’re already trying to push me out.”

Your walls are giving futile resistance to his length, but he continues pushing in steadily until he’s fully seated inside of you. “So thick!” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut.

“That’s right, Sweetheart. And you’re taking it all…” He punctuates his words by tightening his grip on your hips, blunt fingernails biting into your skin. A part of you hopes that they bruise.

He sets a brutal pace from the start, almost immediately pulling back to reenter despite the lack of adequate adjustment. When you whine in complaint, he offers a simple, halfhearted apology that sounds something like “Shit…sorry, o-oh fuck, I’ll make it up to you, I swear..!”

It– He’s endearing, so you let it slide.

Each thrust is perfectly placed, and you have to toss your forearm across your face to keep from letting out the embarrassing noises bubbling up your throat. Yangyang doesn’t seem to appreciate that, and he punishes you with a wordless nip at the column of your neck accordingly.

You can feel pleasure mounting where your two bodies meet, and you hate to admit that you can already feel your release tingling in your toes and the tips of your fingers. Despite the effort to keep your sounds at bay, you’re still letting out a few here and there past your drool-slick barrier. “Oh my God!” You wail when he brushes the spot in you that sets off blindingly bright fireworks right behind your eyes. “Right there!”

“Right here?” He teases with a pointed thrust, breathless and covered in a sheen of sweat, leaving the comfort of your neck to meet your gaze.

While the first thrust sets off fireworks, the next one feels like a flashbang. An explosion of white hot pleasure nearly takes you by surprise, and you lose all semblance of self-control, rolling your hips down into him and fucking yourself further onto his cock. “Yes! Don’t stop!”

And he doesn’t. The tech instead grabs one of your thighs, maneuvering you onto your side and guiding your leg up onto his shoulder in one swift movement. He immediately slips back into your wet heat with a groan, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this pussy, shit, I’m going to have to move up your fill appointment.”

With the new angle, one of his hip bones kiss your clit in just the right way. Tears springing to your eyes, elusive orgasm hurtling towards you at an alarming pace. “I’m gonna cum!” You whine, a teardrop rolling over the gentle slope of your cheekbone.

“Cum for me, Sweetheart, let me feel you cream my cock!”

He doesn’t slow his thrusts or make any unnecessary adjustments as you finally, and thankfully, come undone. Your heart thunders loudly in your head as you drench both the chair and the skin where you and him connect. Upon feeling your hole flutter around him, Yangyang whimpers and doesn’t slow his movements despite you teetering on the edge of pain from your recent orgasm.

“So, so good for me, I knew you were a good girl.” He babbles, barely coherent at all. You hiss when the stimulation becomes all too much, and he still finds it within himself to coo at the state of you. “I know, I know, I’m so close. Just a little bit more.”

Then, just when you think that you’ve completely figured him out, he does something completely unexpected. He guides your hand, resting limply at your side, up to his neck. Holding you there with an insistent press of his palm, wanting you to create pressure of your own.

When you grace him with a gentle squeeze, his eyes immediately roll back into his head. “Are you sure?” You ask, easing off of the pressure only the slightest bit.

“Please, please, please…” He pants, a dribble of spit creeping into the corner of his mouth.

Once you receive his desperate plea, your fingers tighten their grip, but not so much as to completely restrict airflow all together. His eyes, hazy and unfocused, are glued to the ceiling. Face red and forehead beaded with sweat, his hips stutter as his end closes in on him.

Your eyes widen and you tighten your grip with haste, “Pull out!”

And he does, a trembling hand prying your fingers from his neck. Yangyang holds it tenderly in contrast to the furious nature that he’s currently jerking his cock. After a few more pumps, he grits his teeth and cums with a near inhuman shout, making sure to cover the entirety of your hand with strings of his pearlescent release.

With a few lingering tugs, he milks himself of what remains and heaves a long sigh, completely satiated. Then, as if reinflating a party balloon, he perks up and hops directly into action. “Wait! Hold it right there!” He says, speed walking back to his discarded pile of clothing. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Your forehead wrinkles in confusion, but you do as he asks, not really wanting to move much anyway. When he finally returns to your side, he waves his long forgotten cellphone in the air with a shit-eating grin. Your heart drops, “What are you doing with that?”

Immediately, he raises his hands defensively (phone still clutched in one of them), smile dropping. His brows shoot up to his hairline. “Just taking a picture of your hand. You know that I post pictures of my work on Instagram, right?”

“Gross!”

The tech raises and drops his shoulder, all-too-familiar amusement lacing his tone. “The ladies love it.”

“Go ahead…just don’t post it, for fuck’s sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your unsoiled hand, a loud discontented sigh wracking your body.

“I won’t, I won’t. Scout’s honor!” Yangyang beams, rubbing at the nape of his neck. The action would almost seem sheepish if you didn’t already see him for what he truly is. “This is for my private collection.”

“Oh, you’re sick.”

“Guilty as charged, Sweetheart.”

-----

The day’s still young when Yangyang finds himself with some free time to take a break. He had (that being the keyword) an early morning appointment, but, despite the bitterness he initially felt at the last minute cancellation, he’s thankful for the prospect of an earlier lunch.

He grabs his elementary school-grade Deadpool lunchbox out of the electric blue minifridge, unzipping it carefully so as to not spill its contents all over the floor. His meticulously packed lunch consists of a tinfoil wrapped sandwich, a small bag of Cheetos, a couple of snack cakes, and a pack of Scooby-Doo gummies.

The lunch of champions.

He dutifully unwraps the main course, disposing of the foil with an arch of his wrist, tossing the ball at an overflowing waste bin. Yangyang, of course, overestimates the distance and misses the metal can entirely. Classic man behavior. But instead of standing, picking it up, and disposing of it properly, he decides to ignore its existence entirely and pretend that he made it in. It’s not like anyone saw his failure, right?

Right?

Wrong. “Nice one.” Jeno says out of the blue, carefully pushing the wall of beads aside so he can join his coworker in the break room.

He didn’t even hear the man approach the break room, or even the familiar chime of the front door, for that matter. It’s a small space as it is, made even tinier with the addition of his coworker. The chiropractor leans casually against the wall with crossed, beefy arms, unintentionally interrupting Yangyang’s free time– and the path of a sandwich to his mouth. There’s a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, amusement written all over his face.

“Thanks.” Yangyang replies, bouncing an unbothered shoulder, and raising his sandwich to take a comically large bite.

Jeno leans down to retrieve the foil ball as the other male chews, gently balancing it atop the teetering trash pile. “So I heard that you were able to see one of my regular clients the other day.” He starts, delicately weaving his way into an entirely different topic of conversation.

Most likely the one he came here to begin in the first place.

“Hm? I did?” The silver haired man answers after he chokes down a swallow. With a tilt of his head, he lowers his stack of bread, bologna, cheese, and mayonnaise pensively. When he doesn’t get an immediate response, he impatiently moves to lift it back in the direction of his slacked jaw.

“Yeah. I’m not too sure why she didn’t contact me first, though.” The chiropractor starts, rubbing at the invisible stubble on his freshly shaved chin. He flashes Yang a white row of teeth, “I told her I would ask you to give her a discount.”

The nail tech comes to a jerky halt, mouth still hanging open to welcome in the food as all the pieces slide into place. Well, it’s more of a fucking slam than a slide at this point. Jeno. Discount. You. With your long legs and black pumps, sauntering into his shop after a long day at work and asking him for a discount.

The discount was a thing? Like, a real, legitimate thing? Shit, Yangyang honestly thought that “discount” was an innuendo for sex. That you were just too shy to outright ask him to fuck you, so you went about it in a roundabout way.

Suddenly armed with the new knowledge, the picture he has of his handiwork, tucked away within the hidden folder of his cellphone, weighs heavily in the pocket of his sweats.

A picture he’s looked at countless times since that evening. A memory that never fails to have his dick stirring. That particular photo, as well as the things he did with you, to you, has lived in the back of his mind…

Yet now he somewhat feels as though he’s taken advantage of you and your situation. Only somewhat. But even with that revelation, he feels reluctant to erase that image from his gallery.

Because erasing that would feel too much like erasing you.

A fat glob of mayo falls from his half-eaten sandwich, hitting the table of the break room with a tiny, but still audible, sound. “Wait, there really was a discount?”

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