Archive of Our Own

The concert's over, but I can still hear the roar of the crowd in my ears as I hang up the sparkly jacket Choi San wore for the last stage. It's heavy, the shoulders broad, just like him. They have to custom-fit and tailor every single one of his costumes these days, and his regular wardrobe, too. 

All that's missing is Hongjoong's coat and pants, and then my job here will be done.

As I'm straightening the sleeves of this damn stubborn coat so that they don't wrinkle when I put them on the rack, the door on the other side of the room opens, and I can hear the sound of the raucous crowd of staff and artists in the hallway beyond for a split second.

I peek over the edge of the rack in front of me, watching a familiar form as it slumps into the armchair in the corner. Instead of my coworkers, like I expect it to be, it's none other than Kim Hongjoong, still wearing his sparkly suit, the same one I need to hang up so I can go out with the others and have an after-concert drink and unwind.

I open my mouth to ask him for it, but no words come out as I watch in horror–and maybe other things—as he reaches down and runs his hand over the front of his pants, groaning at the sensation as he no doubt—

I know damn well what he's doing. I know what a man who's pleasuring himself looks like, sounds like. But instead of making myself known, I just stare as the front of his pants tents, as he rubs himself over the cloth, his eyes drifting shut as he leans his head back against the chair he's sprawled in.

My jaw is so wide open I could catch flies with it. I'm staring, and I know I shouldn't be, but it's too late to make myself known without this being totally awkward for both of us.

Unfortunately, I don't get the chance to make that decision. His hand moves from the front of his pants to inside his pants, and my hands shake at the imagery in front of me. I don't even realize that the damn jacket is falling off the hanger I fastened to it as Hongjoong drags his waistband down with one hand and pulls himself free with the other, an illicit and very erotic groan leaving his lips.

Something squeaks, and I duck belatedly, realizing it's me. But it's too late. The captain shouts, not loud enough to be heard outside of the room, but loud enough that I know damn well I've been caught.

There's silence in the room for a split second. Then, "Is someone there?"

I really don't want to answer. My lips better stay zipped so I can sneak out of here and keep my dignity intact—

"Ah, yeah, hi, sorry about that. I was just—just hanging up wardrobe. I'll be—I'll get out of your way, I didn't see anything—"

I cover my eyes with my hand and use my other hand to map out my trajectory around the rack, but I misjudge the legs of the damn thing, and the toe of my shoe catches on one leg, sending me spiraling forward. I'm so embarrassed that I almost saw Hongjoong's dick that I can't bring myself to uncover my eyes for self-preservation. So I know, I just know, I'm going to fall face-first on the floor—

At the last second, strong arms catch me, grabbing hold of me around my middle as I fall. It doesn't stop my trajectory or redirect it, but I land on something softer than the floor. 

It doesn't take more than a second for me to sort out that I've landed on top of Hongjoong. Who I was trying to avoid on my way out the door in my embarrassment. Whose hands are resting on either side of my ribcage, holding me up as he groans in pain.

I'm still refusing to uncover my eyes.

Uncovering my eyes means I'll be tempted to look. And if I look, I'm going to give away everything. All the secrets that I hold will be easily discovered in the depths of my eyes. And then I'll have to get a new job. Or leave the country. Become a hermit.

"Are you okay?"

His voice is soft, wary, and maybe a little gruff, probably because there's a whole ass me on top of him, and I'm not the lightest girl on the planet. 

I clear my throat, giggling nervously. "Ah, yeah, I'm—sorry, I shoud—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt—"

Please just let me get up and get out of here.

And then he shifts underneath me, and I realize two things in quick succession.

One: Hongjoong is hard. And he's packing. I mean, there's no way that thing is real. No fucking way. It's huge. And he's so tiny. 

Two: I have no self-control. My body does what it wants, how it wants, whenever it wants.

My lips part in a silent oh of surprise, and even though I can't see his face, I know he's gotta be blushing, too. At least I hope I'm not the only one who's awkwardly suffering here. And my mortification multiplies when I shift and rub myself along his dick like a cat in heat.

"I should really get out of here, let you—I mean, I h-have work to do—I'll just be going—"

I try to get up and fail, and his hands steady my hips this time, which only makes things worse, because now my thighs are spread around his hips, and I'm sitting on Kim Hongjoong's dick, and holy shit, did it just twitch against me? No, no no no, this isn't happening—

"Hold still," he orders, his voice a little breathy, and I still immediately, which does literally nothing to lessen the way we're pressed against each other. "You know, it would be a whole lot easier for you to get up if you took your hands off your eyes."

I shake my head, perhaps a little too aggressively. "Oh, no, thank you. I'd rather not—"

If I have to look this man in the face, I will die of embarrassment. I know it. There's no way—

"Then let me help you up."

He rolls us, and fuck, if I thought it was hot having him underneath me, having Kim Hongjoong's knee between my thighs, his body towering over me, even though I can't see it, is even hotter. I can feel his presence blocking out the fluorescent lights above, a heavy disturbance in the room's air. 

He shoves off the ground with a groan, and I don't know if it was a horny one or I'm just slipping into delulu mode now, but fuck, it sounds hot. Hotter than it has a right to be. In seconds, he's grabbing my free hand and hoisting me off the ground. He gives it a little squeeze before letting go, and though I don't have any clue what that was for, I don't allow myself to dwell on it.

"Right, thanks," I mutter, turning in the direction I hope the door is. Apparently, judging by the chuckle he lets out, I'm unsuccessful. "Uh, could you turn me toward the door?"

"If you leave now, they'll know I'm in here." He says it so calmly, I wonder if he's been thinking about this the whole time, or if he's just stating facts.

"I won't tell a soul," I insist, hand still over my eyes. "I swear."

His voice moves around me, and suddenly I think I know what it feels like to be a gazelle being hunted by a lion on the African savannah. "No, you won't tell them, but they'll figure it out." He's behind me now, and that's where he stops, hesitating for a moment. "They're smart. And you're a bad liar."

"How do you know I'm a bad liar?" He's not wrong, but where did he get that information—

"Last week, you told San you couldn't fix the buttons on his jacket in time for the performance, when I know damn well you could. You've done it for Jongho before in half the time. You couldn't stop tapping your toe, and you couldn't make eye contact, either." He hums to himself, and I imagine he's looking me up and down, watching to see if I'll start toe tapping right now. "Today, Wooyoung asked if his hair looked even on both sides, and you lied and told him yes, and then you informed his stylist that it needed to be trimmed before he noticed again."

"Perceptive captain," I mutter under my breath, and then my hand slips down to cover my mouth at the brazen sass that just slipped from my lips. "Sorry." I start thinking as my hand moves back up to my eyes again. "I could go hide in the bathroom while you—while—uhh, I could put in my noise-cancelling headphones, and just—"

I peek open my eyes and spot the bathroom door, making a beeline for it. But when my hand falls on the knob, I realize it's locked. And neither of us has a key.

Shit.

"Locked, isn't it?"

Why, of all times, does he have to be so perceptive now?

"Yes," I grumble, pouting. "I could still put in my headphones and just hide behind the racks." Since I'm apparently being held hostage. "I'm sure I won't hear—I mean, or see–you know what, I'm just going to stop talking."

"Probably for the best," he huffs, and damn, the urge to turn around and wipe that smirk I know he's wearing right off his face is so visceral, I almost give in.

"Well, I'll just—just lead me to a corner and put me in it, and I'll just—you can just—"

I stop as I feel the softness of a fabric slip around my head, covering my hand that's over my eyes. His voice is low, gruff, as he utters his next command.

"Take your hand down. You won't be able to see through this."

I do as I'm told, because at the end of the day, I don't want to be fired for refusing Kim Hongjoong anything, and hold my breath, waiting as he cinches the fabric behind my head. He's careful with it, brushing my hair out of the way as the straps tighten around my skull, just enough to keep it in place.

When he's done, I reach up and trace my fingers over the fabric. "What did you just blindfold me with?" Not that I need him to confirm a thing. I know this particular piece of fabric better than I know my own hand.

It's his captain's armband.

"You mean you can't tell?" There's a hint of smugness behind his words, and I think by blindfolding me, he's gained a little confidence and lost a bit of the awkward embarrassment. "I would have thought someone acquainted with our wardrobe, like you are, would know it by feel alone."

I have to swallow to keep from choking on my own spit. I'm reminded of a line from his most recent solo song. Screaming out my name, I got the girls feeling holy. I wonder if he's ever blindfolded a woman like this before? And then I moan, involuntarily, because the thought is followed immediately by the inner debate on what he'd do with her once he blindfolds her.

Present company excluded, clearly, because he's not going to—

"It's your armband," I manage to rasp out, clearing my throat pointedly. "I'm not stupid." I really hope he puts me in a corner and tells me to put my headphones in so we can get this over with. So he can do what he's going to do, and then I can leave and pretend this whole thing never happened. And then I can go home and start looking for a new job, because I'll never be able to face him again if he—

"These are my in-ears," he says suddenly, putting something small and wired in my hands. "They're better than any market-level noise-cancelling headphones you can buy on the street."

I wait a heartbeat, then slide one in my ear, and fuck, it's still warm. This was on Hongjoong's body not long ago. And that does something to me. Several somethings.

"There's only one chair in here," he points out, like I didn't clock that when I came in. "Do you want me to flip over a crate or something for you to sit on?"

"I can kneel," I say quickly, not even taking a moment to think about how that sounds to someone who's very likely about to jerk his own dick in the same room as a blindfolded woman. As if to prove my point, I drop to my knees, back straight, hands on my thighs, head down so that I don't accidentally spot his shadow.

He reaches down and tugs on the other end of the headphones. Then, he slides the other one into my empty ear, his finger caressing the shell of my ear as he tucks some of my hair out of the way.

I swallow and give him a thumbs up to let him know I'm ready; he can do what he wants, I can't hear him. Or see him.

It takes me about ten or so seconds to realize that I am very, very wrong on that aspect. 

I can hear everything.

Including the little moan he makes when he flops back in that chair and no doubt palms himself in a hurry, eager to get this out of the way and over with before their encore performance after the voting.

I wait a second, thighs clenched together, hands balled into fists atop them, as his breathing grows ragged, as he shifts in the chair, and then, when I let out a little moan of my own, all sound stops. 

I have to tell him.

"Uh, Hongjoong?"

There's a brief, silent pause between us. "Yes?"

"They're—they're not soundproof unless you turn them on."

I wonder if he's going to just give up, if he's going to turn them on, if he's going to just keep going and make me listen, torturing me—

"You're making this whole situation a whole lot harder."

At first, my brain doesn't catch up to the double innuendo lacing his words. Surely, The Kim Hongjoong didn't just make a dirty joke with a member of the staff—

"Um," I say lamely, unsure what else I can say to that. Or even if I should. "I—"

His hand is on my chin in a flash, and I feel my face being tipped up toward the ceiling. "You're—you want to listen, don't you?"

I shake my head vehemently, but we can both see it's a lie. If the way my hands grip my thighs isn't a tell, the lip bite that I can't fight off when I think about listening to him getting off just feet away from me is a dead giveaway.

"What a terrible liar," he growls, his hand disappearing. The blindfold makes him brave, because when there's no eye contact, when you don't have to look someone else in the eyes, it's a layer of protection that emboldens you. "I thought we already established I can tell when you're not being honest?"

"Ah," I start, but his hand is back on my chin, and with my mouth open, lips parted, his thumb slides between them and presses against my teeth. I damn near choke on my own tongue at the move.

"You know," he starts, his voice a pleasant hum of contemplative thought and daring challenge, "you could help me, since you made this whole situation harder on me."

I know Kim Hongjoong did not just say I made his dick hard. Hard-er. 

It's impossible to talk around his thumb in my mouth, pressing against my lips, so I just nod and close my mouth around his digit, letting my tongue swirl around the tip of his finger seductively.

If this man is asking me if I want to suck his dick, the answer is a resounding hell yes. I mean, I'd have to be dead to not want to, and even then, my spirit would be mourning the loss of opportunity and means, howling from the afterlife.

Against my better judgment, I moan, pressing my thighs together as I let the vibration rumble through his skin.

"Fuck," he whispers, and then just like that, I can hear the sound of his belt buckle being undone as he pulls his hand away.

I don't have to wait long before I feel something else pressed against the seam of my lips, and fuck, if I had known those edits were all right, or rather, they weren't even close to how much he's apparently packing down there beneath his waistband, I'd have bought a bigger toy to entertain my fantasies with.

"Those edits online weren't kidding," I whisper as my lips part, and I take him in my mouth, tasting the saltiness of his precum on my tongue.

"I don't know if I want you to elaborate on what you mean, like, ever," he growls, one hand tangling in my hair, using his grip to bring my mouth closer to his body. I'm not sure I can take all of him, but damn it, I'm going to try. And maybe choke to death. "Definitely not right now."

His grip is soft, not demanding, but he feeds his cock into my throat like he's trying to cut off my airway with it. It's touching my damn tonsils, so I take a deep breath and concentrate on not thinking too hard about the gag reflex working against me. Tears form at the corners of my eyes as he fucks my face, slowly at first, but with a growing urgency as the noises outside of the room grow louder.

There's not much time to enjoy this. So I do my best to make it good for him.

My cheeks hollow. I suck, then swirl my tongue, taking advantage of likely the only time I'll ever have this man's dick inside me. There's a strong urge in me to reach up and touch him, caress him, hold him steady, but he didn't ask me to touch him. He told me to open up. So I'll be his pretty little cum receptacle, let him get off in my mouth, and I'll swallow all the damn evidence, too.

And then when he walks away, leaving nothing more than a memory and the taste of himself on my tongue, it'll be like it never happened.

Until he reaches down with his free hand and unlaces the armband he's blindfolded me with, and I hear his snarling voice caress my ears.

"Look at me while I wreck you, sweetheart," he growls, and fuck, but that's the hottest thing I think a man has ever said to me. In. My. Life.

The fabric falls from my eyes, and though I can look now, have been ordered to look, I'm scared of what I'll see there. His dick is already in my mouth, heavy on my tongue, deep in my throat. Do I really dare to defy the odds and stare directly into the sun while he uses me as a hole to fuck?

My lashes flutter open, and I see the flat expanse of his hips in front of me, peeking out where his pants are open at the top, a sliver of skin that he'd normally not show. Above that, his shirt lays flat on his stomach, and before I can stop myself, my hands rise and sneak under his hemline, shoving the fabric up so I can see the soft curve of his stomach, and the powerful muscles beneath it that flex as I blow him.

A sharp gasp is my reward as his hands reach down and stop my progression, but he doesn't pull me away. Instead, he pins my hands in place, fingers on his abdomen, allowing me to touch him as a low rumble of pleasure rolls through him.

"You're not good at listening to orders, are you?" he complains, and fuck, I can almost see the moue of displeasure on his pretty fucking lips.

I grunt in offense, but I can't say what I want to, not with him in my mouth. But he knows, because he's good like that. 

"You're not looking where you know I wanted you to," he explains further, and I can no more restrain myself from the eye roll that comes out of me than I can stop breathing and stay conscious. "Eyes up here, now," he says again, one of his hands releasing one of mine so he can guide my gaze upward. 

The second his eyes meet mine, I melt.

This isn't the Kim Hongjoong the cameras see. The touch-averse man who bestows affection on his members when they're not under the watchful eyes of a million-person audience, or on national television. This is a man who knows what he wants and is ready and willing to take it. A man who is comfortable giving orders, who expects them to be followed without question.

He pulls his dick back until only the tip rests on the edge of my tongue, and then slides it back in, all while he watches me and holds my eyes on his. It's single-handedly a panty-ruining moment, and I moan at the sensation building in the pit of my stomach, the arousal dampening my thighs and proving me to be gone for this man.

"Fuck, you look so good, taking me like that."

I would have never pegged the captain for a dirty-talker, but he's doing a damn good job at it. I shift slightly, trying to add a little friction to my own needs to dampen the urge to touch myself. But it doesn't work, and it certainly doesn't go unnoticed.

My nails dig into the flesh of his abs, and his little grunt of pain is laced with pleasure, teasing my ears as he groans from the pressure building in him. His thrusts into my mouth speed up, the pattern erratic as he nears completion.

I'm almost certain he's going to pull out and finish somewhere else, like a gentleman. And no offense to him, but I've only got one chance to know what he tastes like. 

My hands slide around to his ass as he groans, at the cusp of his release, his cock twitching on my tongue, and I slam my mouth onto his length, taking him all the way in, my nose pressed against his pubic bone, airway closed off to everything but him.

I refuse to let him go, and then with a single swallow, I drag him over the edge.

His hips flex; a hand tangles in my hair as he lets out a whine that's very unbecoming of his earlier composure, and his hot seed hits the back of my throat in spurts, filling my mouth, warm and tangy and fuck, I swallow it all down like I'm starving, and it's the only thing I'll ever eat again.

"Shit," he groans, "Jesus, you—fuck, that's hot." He's struggling for words, and I'm struggling to maintain my sanity. Kim Hongjoong, the captain of ATEEZ, just came down my mother fucking throat.

He pulls away, even though I struggle against him to try and keep him there, but he doesn't go far, and when he slides free of my mouth, I swallow the little left that didn't trail down my throat on its own and lick my lips. Then I lean forward and clean his dick of the last drops, holding eye contact even though I feel less brave than I've ever felt in my life as I do it.

My panties are soaked. I'm dying here, feeling much like he must've felt when he came in here looking for some privacy. But it's worth it for what just happened here. 

"That was—you didn't have to do that," he mutters quietly as he tucks himself away, a hand reaching down to help me off the floor. He studies my face when we're both on our feet, and I don't know what he finds there, but his hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips, parting them so he can lean in and place his own against them.

I'm panting like I've just run a marathon when he pulls away, we both are, and it's nice to know I'm not the only one affected by his momentary lapse in sanity.

The tips of his ears are tinted pink from embarrassment, shyness, perhaps, as he licks his lips and sighs. "So that's what I taste like."

Air is hard to breathe when you're busy choking on it.

Ask me how I know.

When I stop gasping and choking, he's wearing a little smirk on those perfect, cute lips of his, his eyes still watching me. Waiting.

"You didn't have to help me," he repeats, like I might've forgotten that he gave me the choice not to participate. Like I didn't walk blindfolded into this myself.

"I wanted to," I say between breaths, afraid if this continues much longer, I might forget how to make words function properly. "Did you—did you enjoy it?"

He steps closer, his body mere inches from mine. "Did you?"

Dangerous questions. A dangerous line of thought.

"I'd do it again if you—if you ever need help with that, you know, pesky after-performance problem in the future," I blurt out before I can remember how to connect my brain and mouth and make them work in tandem. 

He seems to think about something, opening and closing his mouth a few times like he's working out how to ask something, or say something. Likely to tell me I'm fired. 

"Wait here."

Before I can protest, he's gone from the room, and I'm left standing here, wishing I could afford to lock the door and rub one out before I have to go looking for his discarded jacket. Instead, I reach up and touch my own mouth, relishing the fact that two minutes ago, his lips were on mine, and his dick was there moments before that.

I can still taste him on my tongue.

The door swings open again, and in bursts Hongjoong, his jacket off his shoulders and in his hands now as he locks the door and turns back to me with a lethal grin.

"What do you have to do after you hang up the last of our clothes?" He holds out his coat, and I take it warily, confusion settling between my brows.

"I was going to go out with the other staffers," I say slowly, "maybe have a drink. Why?"

He's behind me as I hang the jacket on the rack, his hands on my arms, running up and down the exposed skin there. "Because I was hoping I could offer you something better."

I don't have to turn around, because in between two fingers of one of his hands is a little silver packet I recognize well. A condom. "And just what would that be?"

"Why don't you let me put that blindfold back on you, and you can find out?"

My hands fall to my sides as a slow grin curls my own mouth this time. "I'd say that my schedule just magically opened up, Captain."

No way in hell am I going to walk away from this man. Not now, not for as long as he'll have me.