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“Bold choice, showing the world your catgirl harem,” is Jimin’s opening line, closing Youngji’s apartment door behind her. “You could have asked me to feature in that, you know, don’t you think I’d have knocked them all out the park?”
Youngji wants to open the fridge (and hide) and get out the soju. It’s one thing having hot people drop by her home when there’s a whole production crew to support her, a script on the fly and a haze of alcohol through her brain. Quite another when it’s just Youngji here alone, face cleaned of make-up, rigidly casual in in a mustard velour tracksuit with HOOKER written across the ass in diamante. Jimin hates this tracksuit.
But for some reason in the year since Jimin came here for the drinking show, Jimin has just… kept coming back. Youngji will get a text: you there?, and on the nights that she is, she’ll send a thumbs up (because she’s totally cool and has incredible, chill game) and minutes later, this happens.
And again tonight, apparently.
Jimin is wearing a tight black dress that’s kind of like if a tight rollneck sweater just never stopped. And was really tight, did Youngji mention that yet?
When Youngji’s eyes get back to Jimin’s face, Jimin is smirking at her, that smug, self-satisfied smile that means Youngji’s probably fifteen to twenty minutes from seeing God. Youngji feels a twitch between her legs, the first urgent ache.
She could barely look at Jimin, during the part of her ‘Small Girl’ performance where they were supposed to interact. And she’s seen the footage already, seen how Jimin looked at her, ready to play sweet. But that performance was pushing the boundaries of broadcast anyway, and if she’d met Jimin’s gaze as Jimin handed her a yellow rose, eyes dripping with honey, she might not have got the rest of the lines out. She associates Jimin with this, now, with these drive-by booty-calls that leave her gooey and blissed-out and alone in a flat that always smells a little like fishcake soup no matter what she does. Jimin never has time to stay, but then surely Jimin shouldn’t have time to even get here in the first place?
“If you want to do more in one of my performances, next year you can be the person serenading me on stage,” Youngji suggests, like it wouldn’t be her, helpless, at Jimin’s feet along with Jimin’s millions of other worshippers. She clears her throat. “Sohee did a great job but bless that child, he was nervous.” She takes a step backwards.
“Then you have to write a song for two women,” Jimin points out, coming closer. Head high, shoulders back. Pursuing her. “I’m no tenor.” She says it quite weightily, seriously, almost as if she could mean it, as if that’s something Youngji could do, that they could do.
It’s so funny, the real and unreal of queerness in their world. A bit over a year ago, Youngji fucking proposed to this girl with a Shinchan ring, recorded for all to watch, twenty-two million views on Youtube and no complaints, but what would happen if they did sing together onstage? If Jimin – if aespa’s Karina – gave her a bouquet like she really meant it?
To be fair to the comedy Shinchan ring, clearly it worked for Jimin on some level. ‘Secrets of pulling idols – huge, horrendous edible jewellery!’ is a Youtube thumbnail Youngji can imagine doing well. The problem is, Youngji has no idea why Jimin liked it, or her, or why she keeps coming back. Youngji’s got good tongue game, sure, but she’s still basically a collection of loud gifs in a trenchcoat, whilst Jimin…
Right now, Jimin is still walking towards her, Youngji retreating helplessly across the kitchen floor until she’s got her back nearly at the bedroom door. Jimin looks immaculate, nothing like she too spent the entire evening performing under hot lights, surrounded by teenagers. And not just teenagers, the glitterati of the kpop world. Powerful people, hot people, talented people. And yet Jimin’s here with Youngji, playing some bit about being pissed off not to be a backing dancer?
“You know there’s no pussy in the world for me that compares to you,” Youngji points out, using the English word.
“Yeah?” Jimin prompts, “is that what all the flirting with Rosé at your collab performance yesterday was proving?” And now, somehow, Youngji is fully pressed against the bedroom door. This must be what it’s like in the last minutes of your life if you’re eaten by a snake. Surprisingly erotic way to go, then. Jimin hustles forward, pushing. She’s pressed up against Youngji’s thigh, and she’s hot, already, Youngji can feel it through both their clothing.
“You’ll soak through that fancy dress, Unnie,” Youngji chastises her, voice almost steady, and Jimin just raises at eyebrow at her and does… something with some kind of invisible zip and maybe temporarily dislocating a shoulder - Jimin could - and suddenly it’s off.
“Boobs,” Youngji points out on an exhaled breath, unable to stop herself. She likes this particular bra and panty set of Jimin’s a lot, actually – plain black and shiny, some kind of wet-effect fabric. Jimin must have noticed that. Jimin notices everything, and that would be kind of intimidating even if you weren’t the kind of person who just says ‘boobs’, in the harsh strip-light of your kitchen-diner, an international idol with a darkening wet patch between her legs licking her teeth at you and all you can think to do is make a joke.
“Aegi-ya,” Jimin murmurs, and ruthlessly slides her hand up the inside of Youngji’s top, cupping one of her breasts (in a worn-out, wash-blued cotton bra with holes in, because what, Youngji’s going to try and compete?), and Youngji has to fling her head back a little. “Are you this sensitive for all the girls, or is it just for me?” And her thumbnail finds Youngji’s nipple.
Youngji laughs, because it’s a good joke. Sure, Youngji talks a lot of game, and yes, she’s had her fun, especially in the trainee dorms for Show Me the Money, but at the end of the day it’s hilarious to imagine there could be that many people ready to deal with the whole Lee Youngji package on any regular basis. It’s a strange running gag for Jimin to choose, this idea that she has any competition at all.
Jimin frowns for some reason, a little snarl passing over her features. When she leans in the kiss comes with teeth, perfect white teeth catching and tugging and Youngji’s lower lip, even as her hand keeps moving and her thigh presses between Youngji’s own; Youngji’s a specimen, pinned at lip and tit and clit, struggling not to move.
“Get…” Jimin says, and breaks the kiss, reaching past Youngji to the bedroom door handle. Youngji realises in time not to stumble back as the door opens, but even if she hadn’t Jimin’s arm is suddenly around her, holding her upright. Jimin has a wiry strength that’s as hot as it is unexpected, and when she cradles the back of Youngji’s head, for a moment it’s gentle.
Jimin keeps giving her things. Not in person, not wrapped or anything, but these packages come in the mail – hand cream, lip balm, eye masks, hangover cure, vitamin tonics, all with gift receipts, and there’s no one else in the world who gives that kind of crap if Youngji’s cuticles are nourished.
Before Youngji can think, Jimin is pressing her forward again, through the mess of clothes on the floor, through the discarded lyric notes she’s absolutely going to tidy up really soon, until Youngji’s on her back, on the bed, and Jimin’s over her. Jimin’s knee is pressed up between Youngji’s legs once more.
“Maybe we’ll ruin this awful tracksuit,” Jimin says hopefully, and arches one perfect eyebrow. Her skin is so smooth and so warm, and Youngji can’t resist putting a hand to the curve of her butt; somehow there’s wetness there, like Jimin’s so turned on just from this that it’s getting all over her.
“You wanna…?” Youngji asks, twisting her head to look at her bedside drawer, but Jimin shakes her head, moving her hand to Youngji’s waistband.
“Tonight, I want you on my fingers,” Jimin tells her. “My fingers, my fingerprints, getting you off. I want you on my skin so I can smell you later.”
And what’s Youngji even supposed to do with that? She moans, knowing she’s going red even though she’s sober, wishing she had a drink to mellow her out (to hide behind), and spreads her legs helplessly, tilting her hips to prompt Jimin to get her fingers sliding down and into the groove that’s waiting for them, hot and wet and aching-ready.
Jimin’s permanent fake nail manicure situation limits some of what she can do, but she’s never let anything stand in the way of making Youngji come like no one ever has, stringing it out, pursuing it, quick orgasms and slow, long, shuddering ones, every spasm just getting her ready for more. Now, Youngji is so aroused she can’t even feel that self-conscious as Jimin rips her trousers and knickers away, and just stares at her.
“Aw, you’re so swollen already, baby! I want to suck your clit, but I want to watch you!” Jimin complains, like this is somehow a problem Youngji’s created specifically to be difficult.
“Life is full of hard choices,” Youngji manages, and Jimin giggles, and kisses her for some reason.
“One day when I come over, I’ll find you have one of your other girlfriends here, won’t I?” Jimin murmurs. She runs another finger over Youngji’s chest, and watches the way Youngji clenches in response with apparent satisfaction. “Then she can eat you out, and I can watch you. That’s how it could work.”
Youngji laughs now, running with it, since it’s so completely absurd: “Oh yeah. Or even two of them at once, my whole harem. One on each tit, one between my legs and you conducting them like the choreo lead, so you could look at me! You’d like that!”
“And you would look at me,” Jimin asserts. She curls her finger, slightly, and finds the head of Youngji’s clit, takes one, then two slow, aching passes over it. “You’d look at me, just me. Only me.”
“It is only you,” Youngji tries to say, uncertain, suddenly, quite what conversation they’re having, but Jimin moves her finger again and Youngji has to stop, and gasp, and then Jimin is hot once more against her leg, insistent, kissing her.