Work Text:
The corruption begins with the mouth, the tongue, the wanting. The first poem in the world is I want to eat.
Erica Jong, Where it Begins
The first time Minjeong wonders what Jimin’s lips taste like, she’s a tad bit drunk.
Jimin is more.
"Your face is so squeezable, did you know that?" Jimin giggles, very close to her. Dangerously close. Her cheeks are all flushed red, like rust spreading across porcelain. Infuriatingly pretty, as always, even with sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead.
Minjeong takes a cautious step back. "Thanks. I guess."
"And you have a dimple," Jimin goes on. She’s wearing a nice dress, white flower print on dark fabric that shifts into multicolored petals under the party lights. "I reeaally like it. You should– you should smile more. Yeah. You just look so cute when you smile."
Jimin's calloused fingers graze her back, and Minjeong feels dizzy. Dangerous. So dangerous.
"Where's Aeri?"
Jimin doesn't answer. Instead, she wraps an arm around Minjeong’s neck, letting her limp hand hover in front of Minjeong. At this distance, it’s clear the details of the ring on Jimin's index finger. It's a pretty thing, silver sculpted into a floral crucifix. Minjeong thinks she's never seen Jimin going out without it.
Then, Jimin mumbles something Minjeong doesn’t quite catch. It’s drowned out by the music blasting from the speakers, a cacophony of sound that is only making her headache worse. She just gets the faint end of, "—like a puppy."
"What?"
"I said," Jimin leans in, her breath smelling of whiskey and lychee syrup, with maybe a hint of fried rice cake. "You're very, very cute, Minjeong. Like a puppy."
Minjeong’s insides twist. She forces herself to remember that this is Aeri’s friend. A very straight, very religious friend. This whole interaction is just platonic bantering, or whatever the fuck straight girls do at parties. Minjeong can’t let herself be a freak.
"Where’s Aeri, Jimin?"
"I told you to call me unnie," Jimin scolds, pouting, even though Minjeong is pretty sure she never said that.
Minjeong tries to take a deep breath. She doesn’t have time for this. The only reason she’s at this party is because of Aeri’s relentless propaganda, which Minjeong realized too late has very different ideas of what fun means. Now, she’s paying the price for her poor decisions, stuck babysitting this near-stranger clinging to her shoulder. She’s sure Aeri is off somewhere sucking some guy’s face.
"I– I need to go to the bathroom," Jimin suddenly slurs, head falling onto Minjeong's shoulder. Her cheek feels feverishly warm.
"Didn’t you just go?" Minjeong tries to soften the edge in her voice. "Can’t you, like, wait until we get to my dorm or something?"
She wants to leave. There’s a limit to her patience with parties, and the alcohol tastes like nausea in her mouth.
"Pleaseee, Mindongie," Jimin whines against her neck, and Minjeong freezes. Mindongie? Since when do they use nicknames? "Pretty please, please?"
"Okay, okay." Minjeong glances around. Of course, the bathroom has to be on the other side of the house. Great. "But let’s be quick."
They’re anything but quick. The party is packed, sweaty bodies stomping on Minjeong’s feet, elbowing and shoving her until her mood sours more and more and more. Jimin isn’t helping, practically draping her entire weight over Minjeong’s shoulders as if her legs have stopped working. Damn her for being so tall.
Another pleasant surprise awaits: a line. Minjeong grits her teeth at the sight of a dozen heads in front of them — groups of girls chatting and gossiping and checking their makeup with absolutely no sense of urgency. By her estimate, it’ll take ten minutes to get into the bathroom, five to find Aeri, fifteen to reach her dorm, and another twenty until she can shower and finally collapse into bed. Patience has never been her strong suit. Nor has socializing.
As Minjeong fights the urge to pull her hair out, Jimin spends the entire wait leaning on her. At first, Minjeong thought the constant contact was just Jimin’s drunken imbalance, but there’s no reason for her to have her face pressed against Minjeong’s neck like that.
What the hell is she even doing? Minjeong wonders when she feels lips hovering over her skin. She must have imagined the flicker of a tongue.
Yeah, she must have. The alcohol is clouding her judgment (which is exactly why she hates drinking), and it’s been too long since she’s got laid, finals looming over her to ward off any free time or libido. Still, she curses herself for turning an innocent slip-up from a drunk Jimin into some perverted fantasy. What even is wrong with her?
Just four heads left. She can’t even feel relief because suddenly there’s something warm on her neck. It’s wet, smooth, and she barely has time to jerk away when sharp teeth graze her skin. Minjeong doesn’t know whether to grunt or moan.
"Jimin." She pushes Jimin back by the shoulders as much as the cramped line will allow. It’s hard, but Minjeong manages to hold her a few inches away.
"God, you smell so good, Minjeongie." Again with the nicknames. Jimin easily overpowers her shove, throwing herself back into Minjeong’s arms. The result is a stumble into the girl behind them in line, and Minjeong has to offer an apologetic smile to smooth the collateral damage.
“Do I taste good too?" Minjeong grumbles, more as a reprimand. What the fuck is this girl thinking, biting her neck in public?
"Maybe." There’s a grin in Jimin’s voice, one that makes her tone stupidly giddy. She nuzzles Minjeong’s neck with a warm breath. "Maybe you do."
At least, by the time it’s Jimin’s turn for the bathroom, she’s more behaved. Good, because Minjeong was tired of the dirty looks from the girl she bumped into.
Minjeong had planned to wait outside, but the moment Jimin opens the door, she pulls Minjeong in. Jimin is stronger than her, and combined with the alcohol dulling Minjeong’s reflexes, the tug sends her stumbling inside, her thoughts tangled between confusion and the heat of Jimin’s grip.
The bathroom is smaller than Minjeong expected, and she wonders how the group of four girls ahead of them managed to fit inside. Her knees are almost touching Jimin’s.
Whatever. Minjeong turns away from the toilet, facing the door with resolve.
The silence that follows is uncomfortable. There’s the murmur of voices outside, the faint thump of an electronic beat filtering under the door, but all Minjeong can hear is how her breathing sounds loud to her own ears.
Which doesn’t make sense. She should be hearing Jimin pissing or something by now.
"Minjeong," the sudden voice in her ear makes her jump, "did you know that you’re very, very pretty?"
She stays still. Lets her eyes roam over the peeling ivory paint on the door, then over the rusted edges of the golden lock, and to the corner of the sink where a crushed energy drink can rests, neon purple droplets staining the marble. Anything to distract herself from a nervousness that shouldn’t exist.
"You just told me that," Minjeong has the presence of mind to say, tongue feeling like coal in her mouth.
"No. I said that you were cute."
Jimin’s hands are warm. That’s what Minjeong discovers when she feels them around her torso, exploring the fabric of her clothes and the sliver of skin between her shorts and baggy t-shirt, calloused fingers rough. The shiver is as involuntary as it is inevitable.
In a fist of courage or stupidity, both sides of the same coin, Minjeong turns to face her. The movement is abrupt, her back hitting the doorknob, but she doesn’t have time to think about the pain when Jimin is so close to her. Close, so close that despite the scent of lemon soap and urine filling the air, Minjeong can smell her perfume. Berries, grapes, and mint.
Jimin leans in. Lips hover over lips.
It would be so easy to kiss her. There isn’t even an inch between them, and the beauty mark below her lip is enticing up close. Jimin’s breath is charged, heavy but shallow, her lips shiny with that flavored lipstick she always wears.
Minjeong can practically taste her. Which is why she pushes Jimin away.
“You're drunk.” Minjeong shakes her head, making herself dizzy. Focus, Minjeong, for fuck’s sake. “Just– just piss, okay?”
The sentence is awkward, but not more than her face burning up. It’s inappropriate how her hands won’t stop trembling, how her heart feels like it’s about to burst, how she has to cross her legs in search of some kind of relief. Focus, Minjeong, for fuck’s sake.
Jimin, actually, doesn’t piss, and just washes her hands with the lemon soap. Which means this was all just a huge waste of time.
When they step out of the bathroom into the sticky air of body heat and deafening music, Minjeong feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. It’s Aeri, the only relief on this feverish night.
They barely take a few steps before Jimin becomes dead weight. Minjeong has to carry her over a shoulder that gets slobbered on during the entire trek to Aeri, and she’s not the least bit surprised to find her friend with a swollen mouth that makes it clear she hasn’t spent her night just talking.
After the trip back to her dorm and the struggle to drag Jimin onto Aeri’s queen-size bed (not without a pit stop at the toilet for an emergency vomiting session, and now she gets why drunkenness is considered a sin), Minjeong is struck by a whirlwind of thoughts. They probably should talk about their interaction after Jimin sobers up. That’s the logical thing to do, to reassure Jimin that Minjeong has no predatory gay intentions and that the moment was just a booze-fueled slip-up, absolutely meaningless.
Communication is always the best course of action, after all. They definitely should talk about it.
They don't talk about it.
Minjeong is holding a pack of soup base when she hears, “What’s with you and Jimin unnie?”
“Hm?” Minjeong doesn’t take her eyes off the package of cold broth. Is it worth it? It’s a few thousand won more expensive than the spicy one, but it’s so tasty. And Jimin seemed to enjoy it, judging by how she devoured the last meal Minjeong cooked. It’d be a nice idea to make a Naengmyeon dish as a surprise when Jimin visits Aeri again.
Wait. Speaking of Jimin—
“What do you mean what’s with me and Jimin?” Minjeong turns her head so quickly it makes her neck hurt.
Aeri raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I’m not stupid, Minjeong. I’m talking about all the tension going around.”
“What? What tension?”
“The sexual kind.”
On the next shelf over, an elderly woman holding a seasoning sachet gasps, looking scandalized at Aeri. Minjeong wants to bury herself in the soup packaging.
“What the fuck, Aeri.” Minjeong looks around to make sure there aren’t any more nosy bystanders, her ears burning. Aeri doesn’t even blink.
“I mean it. Jimin’s gotten so touchy with you. All the hugging and kissing on the cheeks or whatever it is that you two do when I’m not around,” Aeri says, a grimace twisting her delicate features. “And she can’t shut up about you, which doesn’t make sense because you’re very boring. No offense.”
“Yes offense,” Minjeong snaps back, which is kind of nonsense. Her head is spinning too much to think straight. “She talks about me with you?”
“Unfortunately.” Aeri shakes her head in mock sorrow, her pink-dyed hair making her look like a flamboyant idol or one of those weird anime characters she likes so much. “Minjeongie this and Minjeongie that and how is Minjeongie? and is Minjeongie eating well? and did Minjeongie rest? She was so tired from all the studying and she works so hard and blah blah blah. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she has a crush.”
Minjeong rolls her eyes, though she almost lets the package fall. “Yeah, just don’t forget the fact that I’m a girl.”
“Hum.” Aeri narrows her eyes at Minjeong like she’s some sort of sociological study. “But it’s still weird, don’t you think?”
“I think she just needs to get laid. Maybe not getting some dick is getting to her head,” Minjeong says and regrets it immediately. She didn’t intend to sound so mean. Not that it matters, with her only audience being Aeri and the seasoning lady — who’s thankfully out of earshot now.
“Maybe.” There’s a smirk in Aeri’s voice. “But, please, don’t be such a hypocrite.”
Minjeong turns from where she’s crouched to smack Aeri on the ankle. What a menace.
“I’ve never seen her act like this with anyone else, though.”
“I don’t really care about that, unnie.” Minjeong says, even though she does. Maybe a little too much, in fact. “Just tell me if she says something to you about it.”
“Gotcha.”
In the end, Minjeong takes the cold broth.
Jimin isn’t exactly Minjeong’s friend. She’s more of a friend of a friend, an acquaintance made through Jimin’s relentless visits to Aeri’s dorm, which she also happens to share with Minjeong.
So, Jimin isn’t exactly Minjeong’s friend, which is why it’s so staggering when Jimin asks one day, “You like girls, don’t you?”
Minjeong's equation is ruined by a scrawl. “What.”
From where she’s perched at her desk, Minjeong doesn’t turn to look at Jimin, but she can imagine her. Sitting on Minjeong’s bed with sheet music scattered across the cream-colored duvet, some classical piece for a piano performance, Jimin is probably staring at the back of her head. Maybe with rusty cheeks.
There’s fussing behind her, the mattress springs squeaking.
“I– I mean, you… you sleep with them. With girls,” Jimin sounds uncertain, none of the usual liveliness in her voice that Minjeong learned to get used to.
“Yeah,” she tries to be casual, though her palms feel clammy. Minjeong doesn’t even remember where she left off in her studies, lost in an equation so long it’s already spilled onto a second page. “That’s what gay women usually do.”
Jimin isn’t exactly homophobic. Or, at least, that’s what Minjeong thinks. That doesn’t mean she’s never caught her wrinkling her nose when Minjeong mentions a female fling, or averting her gaze when she sees Minjeong flirting with a girl at a party, or her not-so-subtle refusal to watch The Handmaiden. Still, she’s always been pretty composed about the subject — more than Minjeong would have expected, given what Aeri has let slip about Jimin’s upbringing.
Minjeong has no idea what Jimin will say next. Maybe something like, Oh, I was just curious, or I think I’ll head back to my apartment then. Sorry, it’s just that I don’t feel comfortable being alone with someone like you, or even curse at her, maybe call her a slur, and tell her she’s going to rot in hell. Well, Minjeong’s Buddhist, so she wouldn’t give much of a shit about her supposed destiny to fry for all eternity, but it would still sting. Because, unfortunately, Jimin does play a significant part in Minjeong’s (admittedly humble) social circle.
Anything Minjeong might have expected would be nothing like, "I—I… I just feel confused."
Minjeong drops her pen. “Elaborate.”
“Well, you like guys too, right? You can do that.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” She can’t believe they’re having this conversation.
“I… I just– I’ve been having this…” A loud sigh. “…thoughts. And I realized: oh, so maybe I… maybe I– you know.” Jimin can’t even force herself to name the sin for what it is. “But when I… uhm. W-when I…”
Jimin has never stammered this much, not even when she caught Minjeong with her hand under a girl’s shirt. The words take so long to leave her mouth that Minjeong turns around in her chair. She finds Jimin sitting on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, tongue a bit darker from the candy she was eating. Rusty cheeks indeed.
“When I tried to– to watch…” Jimin’s eyes flit around the room. There isn’t much to see, bare walls and impersonal furniture, and Minjeong finds herself wondering what Jimin’s apartment looks like. If there are any souvenirs, plants, framed photos, posters, or even pets. “A-ah, that’s so embarrassing…”
“I’m not going to judge you or anything, Jimin. I know how sexuality can be confusing sometimes. I’m all ears.”
“Um, it’s that… when I tried to watch…” Jimin furrows her brow before continuing, “…i-intimate videos, I– I didn’t feel anything, I guess. And now I’m even more confused.”
Intimate videos. “Like, porn? Are you talking about lesbian porn?”
“Y-yes,” Jimin stammers. It’s cute the way she averts her eyes, how she turns all red. She’s cute.
“Okay. But what about straight porn? Do you get turned on watching it?”
“I—I don’t know.” She fidgets with her index finger, as if playing with a ring that isn’t there. Maybe what Minjeong once noticed as a rosary ring. “I don’t think so. It makes me a bit uncomfortable, to be honest. Maybe… maybe there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Porn might just not be your thing. It’s actually pretty common to feel that way.”
Minjeong is the opposite. She’s a very visual person. She likes seeing pleasure etched onto people’s faces, likes the sweat, the flush, the drool, the junction of bodies, the devouring of mouths, how visceral it all is. She likes dissecting vulnerability with her lips. She likes swallowing it whole.
“And you’ve been with guys before, right? Did you like it?”
“Uhm, I guess. It was… fine.”
Jimin couldn’t have seemed more underwhelmed if she tried. For someone who’s only beginning to entertain the idea of maybe liking girls, unpacking what she said — how it sounded – might be too much at once.
And, in hindsight, there were signs. The slightly odd obsession with IU, chatting with Aeri for hours about some female anime character, not saying much during conversations about crushes or hot boys on campus, staring at Girls Generation’s Taeyeon advertisement for too long, that eventful night at the party.
“So your question is whether you like women,” Minjeong tries to summarize.
“Yes. And– and to figure it out, I wanted to… I don’t know, just test it.”
“You want to experiment with someone?” When Jimin shyly nods, she thinks it over. “Oh, okay. I could show you around some lesbian bars then. My favorite one is in Yongsan, but there are some great ones in Hongdae, and I’m sure you could meet someone–”
“Wait, no,” Jimin cuts her off, her cheeks a richer shade of red. “I don't know if I want to be with just a random person. I– I wanted it to be with someone I trust.”
“Well, so like who?” Who could Jimin possibly mean? Seoul’s sapphic scene isn’t exactly massive. Minjeong can’t think of anyone in Jimin’s social circle who’d fit the criteria — though it could be someone from her dance club, like that Chinese friend (whose name Minjeong can’t recall right now). It’s a good guess, since she was wearing an I ♡ girls shirt in the last photo Jimin posted on her Kakao Blog. Besides her, Minjeong’s mind is blank.
“Someone like–” Jimin halts. She averts her gaze, swallows hard, then looks back at Minjeong before whispering as if a secret, “like you.”
Minjeong blinks once. Then twice. And thrice.
All that comes out of her mouth, an octave higher than her normal tone, is a choked, “What?”
“W-well, I trust you.” Jimin sounds so earnest, so honest, blinking wide-eyed at her.
Minjeong doesn’t know if she trusts Jimin.
“And, uhm, don’t you think it’s perfect? You go out with girls all the time–” Is this Jimin’s way of calling her a gay whore? “–and you proclaim yourself as an anti-romantic, right? So… so you could just see me as one of them while I figure this out. Without catching feelings, you know?”
Given how eloquent her argument is, it’s clear this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea. Minjeong can only wonder when the thought first crossed her mind.
Minjeong won’t lie to herself and pretend she never entertained the idea. Jimin, after all, is very, very pretty, and Minjeong is very, very gay. But still, there are boundaries.
“Well, but it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just bang a random gay girl and find it amazing if you’re not attracted to her,” Minjeong tries to reason, her head spinning.
“But I am. I am attracted to you.”
Her brain short-circuits.
“It’s just… you’re pretty. And nice.”
Minjeong doesn’t consider herself a nice person. She’s grumpy most of the time, she’s too aloof, she’s not much of a talker, she’s not very interesting. She’s just too much and too little all at once, as overwhelming as she is underwhelming. Definitely not nice nor trustful material.
“So you want to fuck,” Minjeong says crudely, as if to disprove the statement. A sadistic part of her enjoys Jimin’s little flinch. Committing a homosexual sin seems worse when you also curse. “And you concluded that I’d accept it. You must think very highly of yourself then.”
The last part comes out with a bite of sarcasm, and Minjeong is surprised Jimin picks up on her tone enough to reply with a grin, albeit shy, “Well, I am fairly pretty, so allow me this moment of narcissism.”
“You are,” Minjeong blurts out. “Pretty, I mean. You are pretty.”
The air feels heavy suddenly. Thick, too difficult to breathe in, and she drops her eyes to the paper in front of her. The ink blot on the sheet reminds her of the beauty mark below Jimin’s lip, and Minjeong wonders how it would feel under her tongue, and she has no idea why she just fucking thought that.
“Aeri unnie might arrive any minute now,” she says, more as an attempt to distract herself.
“Actually, Aeri said she was going to get here pretty late. It’s her aunt’s birthday, remember?”
Oh. Minjeong had forgotten. She doesn't even remember why Jimin stayed here when Aeri left, especially when Minjeong had so much to study and Jimin herself had to practice for a piano performance at a fancy wedding.
“I have to finish these equations,” it borders on an excuse but without the bite of denial.
Jimin seems to notice, a tentative smile on her face. “The afternoon is young, isn’t it?”
Eyes fall on Jimin. It’s not something Minjeong has ever paid much attention to before, but Jimin’s neck is pretty. Long, with a faint prominence at her throat like an Adam’s apple, a stretch of pale, unblemished porcelain skin. Kissable. Painfully unmarked by bruises.
Minjeong stands before she can think twice.
With just a few steps, her knees bump against Jimin’s. Seated, Jimin is, for the first time, shorter than her. Staring down at her feels strange, beneath the mercy of Minjeong’s gaze. She takes another step until she’s standing between her open knees.
“Unnie,” the honorific feels strange coming out of her mouth, too large, too heavy, too electric over her tongue. “Are you sure about this?”
Jimin’s throat bobs as she swallows. “Yes.”
Minjeong leans forward, her face hovering over Jimin’s. A few strands of bleached hair brush against her flushed cheeks, her breath stirring the pale strands.
She leans closer and closer and closer until her lips press against Jimin’s cheek.
A full-body shiver.
Jimin’s hands are warm. Still warm. That’s what Minjeong discovers when she feels them wrap around her waist, short nails leaving a pleasant sting. Instinctively, she presses closer, one knee sliding between Jimin’s legs.
A moan cuts through the air.
Jimin’s lips tremble, as though embarrassed by the sound that escaped her own throat, but all Minjeong wants is to feel it in her mouth.
Her lips trail down, not quite touching, from Jimin’s cheek to her cupid’s bow and then lower, to dive into the curve of the neck. It’s warm, soft, and trembling. When Minjeong wraps her lips around the jugular and sucks, Jimin releases another moan so sweet it makes her dizzy.
Seeking more contact, more friction, Minjeong tries to press her torso against Jimin’s. It doesn’t work well, given the way her back is arched, and she pathetically ends up losing her balance.
She falls right onto Jimin.
An elbow lands somewhere between Minjeong’s ribs, and a stray strand of hair pokes her eye, but a laugh still ends up escaping. Jimin laughs with her, bright white teeth exposed unbashfully. Now face to face, Minjeong can appreciate Jimin’s smile up close.
“Uhm, did it hurt?” Jimin asks through giggles.
“What?” Minjeong adjusts herself, propping her palms on the duvet to avoid crushing Jimin. The spine of a music book under her hand feels cold. “No, not really.”
Jimin is still laughing. “Oh, good, because it must be a pretty big fall from heaven to here.”
Oh. Oh. How stupid Jimin is.
“Very funny.” Minjeong’s snort stirs a few strands of Jimin’s bangs. “Are we staying like this, or are you going to give me some room?” She’s part sardonic, part sincere, because their position is awkward — Jimin’s feet are still planted on the floor, and half of Minjeong’s legs are dangling off the bed.
“Wow, bossy much, Minjeongie?” Jimin pouts. It’s strange how she manages to remain playful in the middle of everything, a constant cheer in her smiles and giggles and jokes, even when she’s about to do something that could take away everything Jimin has ever had. Everything Jimin has ever loved.
Despite the teasing, Jimin follows the command, crawling back toward the pillows. Sheets of music and the sour candy package crumple along the way, and the wire of her headphones tangles around her fingers. Minjeong follows her upward, on her hands and knees like a beast, like a predator, like a hunter seeking blood on her mouth.
The laughter is long gone. Back is the sinful lasciviousness.
Their legs tangle, Minjeong flexing her thigh until it slots perfectly between Jimin’s. Another moan, louder this time, spilling from a bright pink mouth.
She wonders what Jimin’s lips taste like.
Minjeong helps Jimin out of her crimson crop top, revealing a bra so white it’s nearly translucent. She buries her face in it, the scent of lavender fabric softener filling her lungs as she peppers kisses along the strap, shoulder, clavicle, breast, until she wraps her lips around one nipple. Jimin’s chest shudders with a raspy breath.
The cotton dampens under her tongue, making it easier to suck, to trace the outline of the areola.
“Shit,” Jimin breathes when Minjeong grazes her teeth over the soft skin. “Shit, f-fuck. ”
Startled, Minjeong releases her from her mouth and gapes. This is the first time she’s ever heard the pure Catholic Yu Jimin curse.
Before Jimin can ask why she stopped — or Minjeong burst into a fit of laughter — she goes back to licking, enjoying the discovery of how sensitive Jimin is there.
Minjeong can feel Jimin’s heartbeat in her mouth. She wants to swallow it whole.
Jimin’s leg wraps around Minjeong’s back, pulling her closer. One of the music sheets tumbles to the floor with the movement, Bach or Beethoven or Chopin.
“What do you want, unnie?” Minjeong presses her thigh deeper, Jimin’s hips grinding against her erratically. Her throat vibrates with a resonant moan.
“Mmh , y-your fingers– fuck , down, I w-want it down. Your mouth, f-fingers, anything,” Jimin babbles, eyes hazy. Another first: seeing Yu Jimin so flustered she’s barely coherent.
But the greatest first might be eating Yu Jimin out.
Minjeong pulls back, untangling their legs and trailing kisses as she moves downward along her body. She gets lost midway, nuzzling her sternum, then the curve of her ribs, her taut abdomen, her hip bone. Jimin’s breathing is heavy the whole way, hitching with kisses that get wetter, slippery. It feels like a reward to reach just where Jimin aches, the source of her languid, profane yearning.
It’s irritatingly difficult to remove her jeans, but after some struggle, they join the crop top on the floor, leaving long legs and creamy thighs exposed.
Jimin’s underwear doesn’t match — that’s the first thing Minjeong notices. On closer inspection, the print on her panties, a white kitten with a pink bow on its head, is unmistakably Hello Kitty. It’s strangely adorable over her skin.
Jimin props herself up on her elbows to gaze at Minjeong. Between her bent knees, seeing Jimin in just her underwear, tits damp with drool peeking under the bra, blush spreading from her cheekbones to her breasts, panties soaked, legs so obscenely open, Minjeong feels warm all over. She tugs off her own shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor, maybe over a sheet of music, Bach or Beethoven or Chopin or an original composition.
Minjeong obviously knows Jimin isn’t a virgin. She’s accidentally heard bits of her gossip with Aeri, details she would have been better off not knowing. But still, she takes her time. This is about Jimin, after all, so when she carefully slides Jimin’s panties down and dips her hand into the heat, she tries to think only about Jimin.
For a second, Minjeong’s mind goes blank. She forgets what to do with her hands, where to place her fingers, how to make Jimin feel good the way she has with all the other girls who’ve been on her bed. All she can focus on is the warmth dripping into her palm, how wet Jimin is for her, how pretty she looks with her hair fanned out around her.
With a shake of her head, Minjeong gets her mind back on track, suppressing the electrical desire rushing through her veins. This is for Jimin, not for you. Focus, Minjeong, for fuck’s sake.
This might be her first time with Jimin, but Minjeong is well-versed in the art of female pleasure. She knows where to brush her knuckles just right, where to press with her thumb to make Jimin squirm, where to sink her fingers.
For someone so uncertain about her sexuality, Jimin takes her finger in with almost comical ease.
“You alright?” Minjeong whispers, letting Jimin adjust to the intrusion. Even though Jimin nods, she insists, “We can stop if it’s too much.”
“N-no, it’s—it’s okay.” Jimin trembles beneath her, opening her legs wider. She hisses when the finger slides in a little deeper. “It’s okay. I—I trust you.”
Again with the trust. How did Jimin look at Minjeong — with her closed-off demeanor and sharp edges — and decide she was worthy of something as fragile and intangible as trust? Jimin overestimates her kindness far too much. It’s like offering the soft belly of a fish and handing Minjeong the grip of the knife.
“Just say the word and we stop.”
Curling her finger slightly, Minjeong feels the texture beneath it change, and Jimin’s moan is different. It feels pulled out of her, breathy, and Minjeong wants to hear it again. Again and again and again, so she thrusts her finger, building a slow rhythm.
The sound of her whimpers is nearly swallowed by the wet squelch that hook Minjeong’s guts. Jimin's so wet that she’s soaking her hand.
“P-put another,” Jimin pleads, her face twisted in pleasure. “I can take it. Plea— mmh, fuck, just put another.”
This is about Jimin, so Minjeong doesn't waver to obey.
Filling Jimin, Minjeong catalogs what she likes. Slow rather than fast, tender rather than rough. There are more sighs when Minjeong trails kisses along her torso, hazier eyes when her hands caress Jimin’s ribs, louder moans when she gives small bites on her thighs. Jimin might be hard to read behind her polite, cheerful, good-girl facade, but here, pliant on her bed, Minjeong can reach into her heart until she knows its taste.
Minjeong thinks of things to say. She’s not usually the dirty-talking type, but she enjoys degrading, humiliating. It feels vindictive, knowing that for all of Jimin’s judgment and barely concealed disgust over her sexuality, she’s the one spread out beneath Minjeong like a whore.
And how badly Minjeong wants to do it. To mock how a cock wasn’t enough to satisfy her needs. How only Minjeong’s fingers are enough to make her moan and whimper under the mercy of her blasphemy.
But it feels wrong. It feels mean. It feels like slicing into the belly of the fish.
“I’m gonna put my lips now, okay?” Minjeong whispers, lowering her head only when she gets a jerky nod.
Provocative rather than urgent, it’s another discovery. Jimin likes it when Minjeong licks the strip of skin that connects her hips to her thighs. Likes it when Minjeong nuzzles her inner thighs. Likes it when Minjeong’s breath ghosts over her pussy. Likes it when she’s spread wide open. Likes it when Minjeong kisses her deep.
Warm and wet and slick and soft. Minjeong melts into her, drowning in everything that is Jimin. Her hands settle under Jimin’s thighs, opening her up to expose the pink flush of her skin, the tangy, intense scent, and Minjeong’s guts are hooked out of her mouth.
She licks at her folds until they’re slick with drool, feels Jimin getting wetter in her mouth. The reactions are trembling thighs and moans that sound sweeter than the song on any of Jimin’s crumpled sheet music. Minjeong sucks gently at the tip of her clit, eager to hear more of it, more and more and more until she’s drunk on Jimin’s taste, scent, voice.
She remembers, from Aeri’s science cram sessions that Minjeong was forced to attend, the meaning of autophagy. The body’s defense mechanism, lysosomes recycling degraded materials, a cell eating itself. Self-devouring, self-feasting, self-corruption.
In this moment, Minjeong stops being Minjeong to become nothing but an extension of Jimin’s pleasure. Mouth flooded with liquid lust, on her tongue, her teeth, her chin. Two bodies for one heartbeat. A famished ouroboros.
If this is an autophagy, it’s a tender one, the type that melts on the tip of the tongue.
Between Jimin’s thighs, Minjeong lifts her gaze. So beautiful, with her rusty cheeks, wide gentle eyes, messy bangs, and lips covered in flavored lipstick — pink and shiny and stained and Minjeong really wants to know what Jimin’s lips taste like.
Her thoughts take the edge of obscenity. She can only imagine what she’ll do to Jimin next. Maybe suck her tits while Jimin rides her fingers. Maybe get her on all fours and fuck her until she’s drooling and whimpering like a dog. Maybe–
It all doesn't even make sense anymore, a jumble of feelings and blurry images and hot pleasure that take over her until she has to remind herself that this is for Jimin, not for you. This is for Jimin.
“Are you gonna come, unnie?” Minjeong asks between sticky teeth. She recognizes the telltale signs, eyes squeezed shut, hips losing rhythm, glistening spit trailing from the corner of her mouth. So beautiful, so ethereal, so divine.
“Y-yes. ” Sweat makes Jimin’s neck gleam. “F-fuck, I’m– I’m–”
Minjeong presses her thumb to her swollen clit and witnesses her descent into depravity.
She had been expecting a loud sound to spill from Jimin’s mouth, but all she hears is a wet gasp followed by a shattered wail. It’s primal, almost animalistic, humanity stripped down to bare visceral pleasure. Warm wetness gushes over Minjeong’s lips, and she fucks Jimin gently until a hand in her hair pulls her up.
Jimin is still trembling all over, tears clinging to her lashes. Minjeong soothes her with soft shushing noises, brushing her face with her clean hand. Her other hand is glossy with slick, muscles burning from overuse.
She’s caught off guard when Jimin takes Minjeong’s fingers and guides them to her own mouth.
Jimin’s tongue glides across the flushed skin, the turquoise veins, the joints, the knuckles, from the back of Minjeong’s wrist to the tip of her index. Opening her mouth wide, Jimin swallows Minjeong whole.
Watching the drool glisten at the corner of Jimin’s lips, canines nibbling at the cuticle, dazed eyes locked onto her, Minjeong realizes — she is no longer the beast. No longer the predator, no longer the hunter seeking blood in her mouth. She’s nothing more than the rabbit caught between Jimin’s teeth.
If she ever lets Jimin have her way with her, there will be no going back. She won’t be able to stop herself from being gnawed to the bones.
“What’s your verdict?” Minjeong asks through a tight throat, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Jimin’s mouth all stuffed, all pretty, just for her.
“Hm, I still need to evaluate.” Jimin releases her fingers, only to lick Minjeong’s palm. Traces the lines on her skin like a map. “Maybe a second round to finish the case?”
“Uh-huh.” Minjeong’s head feels heavy, the heat between her legs crawling up to her belly. She pulls her hand soaked with Jimin to cup the doll-like face between her fingers. “You can ride my face.”
Jimin, of all things, squeaks. It’s ridiculous, so unexpected, this childish display of enthusiasm, but all Minjeong can think about is how Jimin’s smile is oddly charming.
Maybe that’s why Minjeong kisses her.
Jimin’s lips taste like raspberry lipstick and grape sour candy. It’s not the best kiss Minjeong has ever had, too much saliva and teeth clashing, but it’s warm and wet and slick and soft, and it makes Minjeong’s stomach twist with a feeling that leaves her dizzy.
And, oh.
Minjeong might be a little screwed.