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Nobody told you you’d be crying the first time you sat on a boy’s face.
Bless Jaehyun’s heart, he’s taking it in stride. You’ve only been dating three weeks, but he’s talked you into letting him eat you out – something you’d never let anyone do, afraid that it was dirty, or foul somehow – but no, funny enough, Jaehyun devours you like honey on the tongue of a starved man. You quickly crescendoed into orgasm after orgasm, curling in on yourself with each consecutive one as it made your muscles clench and stutter while you saw stars, and eventually you’d contorted your thighs around his jaw and he was tilting you carefully over him.
The moment gravity became apparent, you’d gasped a soft little oh!, flushed with embarrassment and heat, and scrambled off him and away. Jaehyun had spent a long minute in a daze, staring at you like you were a slice of the finest cherry pie with a glaze over his mouth and cheek and chin before he recalled to speak.
“Whassamatter?” He blinked in surprise at his own slurring, and sheepishly cleared his throat. His eyes were soft and dark, lids heavy, but his gaze was gentle, concerned. “Everything okay?”
“I– I, we, w-well–”
You explained gravity to your boyfriend, patiently, and concerns regarding your own mass being placed so precariously on a precious place.
His face.
Jaehyun had given you a million-watt grin in response, the very same that had made you wet the first time you met him, and the effect was no different again.
It takes time, of course, to coax you into it. In your heart of hearts you do want to – to be vulnerable and intimate with your boyfriend. The idea of being on top is just… daunting, is all. Jaehyun is the big strong prince; Jaehyun carries you around because he feels like it, lifts you into hugs because he can. Part of you is intimidated by the responsibility of compromising that weight, but another part is whispering hush, let him take care of you.
Unfortunately and to no one’s great surprise, it takes a century to get you to bed, clothes off, covering your face as you straddle him. And your eyes are watering. Not because any of this is bad! You’re just nervous and he’s so… dreamy! He’s kind, and he’s smart, and respectful, and so good to you, and he hadn’t pressured you at all. He’d merely asked, and you said yes, and meant it steeply. You had also mumbled, twisting your fingers timidly against your fluttering stomach, that he’d perhaps have to help you along and be patient and just persist, because you were shy.
“She’s so shy,” he whispers back, a single hand carding through your soft bangs with reverence. “Of course, baby. Anything for you.”
Jaehyun speaks this with such pure devotion and love, and the kiss he gives you is utterly intoxicating, borderline obscene.
And now he’s underneath you, waiting for you to put yourself on his face.
His hands, warm and big, cup behind your thighs to pull you forward. You whine low at the feeling of your lips dragging against his abdominals, over his sternum and chest, and promptly settle on your knees, hovering over him. This is – too much, so much, the blood is rushing to your head and you let out a soft, tiny sigh, staring down at your boyfriend. He looks so becoming, hair mussed and lips slightly swollen, damp from all the kissing, and the way he looks at you sends a new wave of desire down your spine and reminds you to be mortified that you might just drip onto his dumb, handsome face if you don’t sit.
You’re distracted from your torment by the feeling of his thumbs brushing against your thighs, back and forth, back and forth, soothing and firm, before changing into a small pattern with two humps. Like a V, or infinity sign, or–
Oh, you think, breathlessly, it’s a heart. He’s tracing little hearts.
Your knees wobble valiantly before giving in.
He’s quick enough to tilt his chin up, catch you with his mouth easily. You’re trapped between a startled inhale and a pitchy, shuddery moan, hands trembling on-contact. Jaehyun’s whole mouth is so hot and slippery, and his lips set around your clit at an easy, considerate pace; delicate. He doesn’t want to scare you off.
Somehow, some way, this was already the best thing that had ever happened to you, and it was also so much and you wanted to cry. You immediately wished you hadn’t thought that, though, because traitor tears cropped up against your eyelashes and you gave a very small sniffle, blinking hard, because you did not want to cry while your boyfriend was eating you out. Even if it was because this was too much and you loved him.
Maybe you should just tell him.
Sniffling again, and batting at your eyes lightly, you look down at Jaehyun nuzzling between your thighs and try to wade through the thick fog of pleasure to talk right, to–
“J-Jae-hyun,” you warble, hips trembling against him, “I-I love yo-youuuhh.”
Jaehyun stares up at you, pupils stretched and hair sticking to his skin just so from his exertion, and slowly he figures out what you’ve just said to him, bit by bit, and not all in the sensible order. His tongue is still lapping at your clit in slow, long licks like an animal might, but his hands have gone still. Then, his eyes – searching, they move up your body and across you to your face, hungry, and then the understanding hits and they go wide. He suckles sharply, mouth already curling in a smile when you half-scream and keen, back arched as you nearly collapse onto his head.
He doesn’t seem to mind, however; his body has restarted, and Jaehyun has pieced together that firstly, you are all right, and secondly, you are crying because he’s so fucking good at eating your pussy and thirdly, lastly, because you love him, and also because you just told him so.
He’s so glad he wasn’t jerking himself off during this, because it would have sent him over the edge.
Jaehyun hums first. Then, he chuckles, and then laughs, deep and velvet against your folds, the vibrations a sweet and cruel torment that buzzed far down your nerves. His conviction is renewed, somehow; his grip latches onto your thighs, fingers digging into the heft of your ass as his tongue laves a long line, slick with saliva, from one hole to the other and back again. He presses his tongue inside of you, insistent and soft all at once, teasing you with too much stimulation as he swallows your nectar.
The pace he keeps up is feverish. You’re helpless as usual by the time the first orgasm crashes over you, eyes fluttering as you struggle to stay upright. When the second one comes with barely a break in between, you can’t keep your fingers around the metal-wrought headboard, too slippery from your sweaty palms, and suddenly Jaehyun’s hands are wrapped around yours, guiding them to… him? His head? His… hair?
His hair.
You’re afforded no time to question it; he takes advantage of your surprise and sets back to dragging his lips, the flat, blunt taper of his teeth, over your clit and it whelms you so deeply that you forget to be self-conscious for a moment and moan, low and lewd and desperate, and tug harshly on his hair.
It is the only time that night Jaehyun falters, and he’s thankful that you couldn’t see the way his cock twitched a mile in his briefs.
By the third orgasm, you’re finally cognizant enough to understand why this is so lovely. It doesn’t matter that you’re on top; he holds you like a doll anyway, never lets you fumble or go off-balance even if it feels like it. There’s an element of danger involved, like how you feel that you’re responsible for bracing yourself, holding yourself upright, being careful not to crush him – but it’s really only just perceived.
He is safe, and you are safe in his hands, too. Shaking and splotchy from effort and arousal, you bite down on your lip and delicately swing your hips back… and then forward. It’s a careful, baby-steps kind of grinding – but your insides are already knotting over and over again on themselves, bristling with the intensity of the pleasure, and this time when you cum you cry out, completely melting into a puddle atop him. You squeeze and writhe, leaking tears and drool and juices, and Jaehyun still obediently, feverishly laps at your soaked, swollen pussy.
The fifth one, he lays you on your back, kisses your belly and your thighs and your ass and the dewy, soft curls of hair. Then he slides one finger inside of you, leans in, and draws you up and into the climax real slow, dragging it out, taking his time. His finger controls that pressure in your belly, somehow, and it’s not until he crooks it up and in and combines it with his tongue swirling obscene, wet things over your too-sensitive bud that your last orgasm explodes over you in such a way that leaves you dizzy. He draws it out, even though you can’t think a single coherent thought, don’t even know up from down. You can hardly recall what colors are by the time it’s over and he’s cradled you down, down, into his arms, his mouth faintly sticky as he holds your face, glowing, and pulls you in to kiss every inch.
“I love you,” he murmurs between them all, smiling so big his ears are pink, definitely pink, “love you, angel, love you, love you, love you love you love you loveyouloveyou.”
You take one deep breath, feel your lips break out into a too-big grin, and promptly start crying again.