Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the other side of your bedroom door waits the world. The essential elixir: Coffee. Your favorite meal: breakfast. The best place in the world: the huge bay window that looks over the city. And, of course, the stack of five books you’re supposed to finish by the end of the week. You’re barely awake but you wince as the weight of the rest of the day settles on your shoulders. So much to do, so much to—

“Stop it,” a gruff voice grunts from the other side of the bed. You hadn’t realized he was awake.

“What?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Huh?”

“About everything you have to do today.” What the hell. Your back is facing him, and somehow still he can read you like the back of his hand, probably even with his eyes closed.

You roll over on your side hoping to catch him unawares, but he’s already looking at you. Those deep dark eyes, crinkled into a sleepy smile.

“I’m not.”

“You’re a horrible liar.” He says it softly, his lips curving up in the smile you know and love so well.

“Yeah, I know,” you huff.

He laughs softly, sleep still weighing heavy on his chest. “That’s not something to be ashamed of. I think it’s cute, even.”

“C’mere.”

He smiles sleepily and rolls into your waiting arms. Together you lay there, him breathing slowly against your chest. Warmth seeps slowly into you, filling you from head to toe with a feeling so soft and cloudy you find yourself falling back towards sleep, towards that dark, lovely, place and—

You sit up in a rush, Namjoon falling away from you.

“I can’t fall asleep.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got so much work.”

With a groan, you make to stand up, but a large hand wraps around your arm and tugs you back down to the mattress.

“Let me give you a reason to stay in bed, hm?”

“I can’t fall asleep again, I have so much—”

“No sleep then. Just—just rest, a little longer.”

You look up at him, at the eager grin on his face, his eyes wide and so full of joy and hope. It is Sunday after all.

“Alright,” you agree.

“Sweet.” He does a little championing fist pump and then is rolling over you, an elbow thrown into your stomach, eliciting an unpretty oof fuck Namjoon from you and a hasty apology from him. And then he’s up, moving quickly towards the door.

You can hear some shuffling coming from the direction of the kitchen. Coffee? Breakfast? For a moment you think you might join him, you know, for the view, for the company (and to make sure he doesn’t light anything on fire or injure himself) when he calls from the kitchen:

“Don’t even think of getting up!”

“I wasn’t!”

“I know you were!” You sigh. He knows you too well. “Just relax. Please?” He sings the last plead softly, and you giggle.

You pull the thick comforter up to your chin and let your eyes fall shut, let the orange wash of the morning sun through your lids lull you someplace soft. The tightness in your chest eases, lets loose. And then you’re straddling that velvet place of late morning: dangled between sleep and wake.

“I burnt the eggs.” Your eyes slowly lift to see Namjoon, standing in the door, a look of remorse on his face. “And now we’re out. But!” He holds one hand up to stop you from talking. “I improvised.”

“You improvised?”

He pulls a plate out from behind his back, carefully balancing a pile of fruit. Delicately sliced oranges, apples, mangos, peaches. Your eyes widen.

You smile and he crawls into bed. You reach to take the plate from him, sure he will spill it otherwise, but he holds it above your head, far above your reach, grinning at you until you settle down. He holds it there until you do calm down, arms crossed over your chest. And then he lowers it, picks a slice of peach and brings it to your lips.

“Let me,” he insists and you open your mouth and he slips it onto your tongue. The light sweetness spreads across your palate and you groan.

“Oh my god — it’s so good.”

“Sweet, huh? The peaches are exceptional this year.”

“Sweeter than sweet, mmh.” He grins at your choice of words and lets you feed him a slice of one.

“Ooh,” he groans, a dribble of peach juice trickling down his chin, which he seems oblivious to. “Damn, that is a good fucking peach.” You pull yourself close to him, and to his surprise, lick the stripe of juice from his chin. “Oh?”

“Oh.” You reply, a smug smirk playing over your face. It’s incredible how easy it is for the man before you to turn you on.

You tangle your hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer to you, pressing your chests together until you can feel the heat of him sink into him. But he just stares at you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You say.

He grins and answers you by weaving his hands into your hair, tangling with the roots in a way that tugs just a little too hard — too hard in the way you like it.

And then your lips meet and it’s like a sigh embodied. It’s release, it’s tension strung, it’s sweetness if it were in breath form. If kissing him was an extracurricular activity, you would abandon all your hobbies for it.

Well, maybe not, but the delight it fills you with is undeniable.

You can feel him smile against your lips and you taste nothing but the promise of summer around the corner when kissing him. It’s not long before you’re left wanting more.

Your hand wanders down his defined torso, tracing the beautiful pattern of his body, reaching farther and farther south until your fingers toy with the snappy band of his sleep shorts, until you reach even further down, and press your palm to his bulge—

His hand comes atop yours and stills your movements.

“Don’t you have reading to do?”

“I do have to do my reading,” you sigh, although Namjoon’s beautiful construction of the morning has convinced you that this, this is where you’d rather be. He brings your hand up to his chest and he smiles sweetly, as if he didn’t just work you up to a boiling point only to stop you. “Ugh, I should go.”

“Or you could stay?

“I can’t, I— wha?”

Namjoon reaches behind and pulls a small worn and torn book out of the back of his pocket. “It’s my copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“I only have the last bit to read,” you say, voice tinged with awe taking the dogeared copy out of his hands with ultimate carefulness. Gently, you flip open the copy, to find it all marked up and repeatedly read to the point of near decomposition. “I didn’t know you had a copy.” You smack him lightly. “I wouldn’t have had to pay 25 dollars at the goddman bookstore if I knew.”

He laughs. “Yeah, and you would have torn through it with all your highlighters and ink pens and destroyed it.”

“True,” you murmur, absolutely entranced by all the layers this book has to hold. It’s clear it’s Namjoon’s book. That it’s taken many a ride in his messy backpack and spent many a night in his bed after he fell asleep while reading.

“Well, go ahead.”

You look up at him just in time to catch a devilish look flash across his face. The sound of question in your throat is quickly cut off as he softly pushes you back, your back landing on the pillows, the book clutched carefully between your hands. You land with a soft oof and Namjoon is quick to situate himself between your legs. He’s laying belly down, arms crossed against your stomach, resting his head on his hands as he looks up at you with wide eyes.

“Go ahead, read to me,” he says.

“Really?”

“Course.”

Carefully, you open the book to the chapter where you had left off. With a smile, you begin to read. “Chapter Sixty,” you say with a nod, catching Namjoon’s gaze over the spine of the book. He smiles encouragingly at you and you clear your throat. “Chapter Sixty,” you repeat. “ Elizabeth’s spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. “How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”

“Oh this is where it gets spicy, huh?”

“Shh,” you hush him. “Let me read.”

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

Slowly but surely Namjoon is inching his way down your stomach, his gaze fierce on you. Your cheeks flush under his watch. And then he presses a kiss to your belly where your shirt has ridden up just enough to expose the heated skin and you squeal.

“What are you doing!”

He doesn’t pause in his answer. “Didn’t I say I was going to give you a reason to stay in bed?” Your eyes widen. “What? You really thought that that reason was going to be a plate of fruit.” He scoffs. “You underestimated me. Again.”

He lowers himself between your legs, and he gaze flickers between the book and you.

“I thought you had reading to do.”

“I do,” you say. And you wait. But he doesn’t move.

“Then go ahead.”

You pause for a second, trying to read the mischievous expression in his gaze, but give up and continue.

“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil—”

Namjoon licks a broad stripe up the fabric of your panties and you gasp, the wet heat of his tongue immediately setting your heart marathoning through your chest.

“Wha—”

“Keep reading.”

With a deep breath, you do.

“My behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”

Namjoon pushes your underwear to the side and with one finger, delicately traces your lower lips before gathering some of your arousal on his finger and bringing it to his mouth. You pause long enough to watch him swallow, a grin spreading over his face as he sees your shock. But then he raises a single eyebrow and gestures for you to continue.

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did,” You read, your voice quivering slightly with excitement.

He brings his lips to your lower ones and presses a kiss to the quickly hardening bud at the apex of your thighs.

“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone.”

“Darcy was always a bit of a bitch, no?” Namjoon says, peeking up from between your legs.

“Mhmm, yep,” you say, holding onto your last edge of sanity as he lowers his tongue back to your clit. Better to focus on the text before you, rather than the beautiful man between your legs if you were ever going to make it through this chapter. So you take a deep breath and continue. “I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.”

Your boyfriend has set a regular pace, tongue circling against your clit, hands digging into the meaty flesh of your thighs, grip tight enough that you know it’ll leave marks, little half moons where his nails press into your skin.

But it’s when he presses a finger into you, quickly finding that spongy spot of pleasure that you lose it.

You can’t help it. With a gasp you let the book fall to your chest, pages splayed wide against your skin. “Fuck,” you hiss as his ministrations continue, drawing you ever closer to the edge of your pleasure.

“I said, keep reading,” Namjoon commands, his voice dropping into the deepest tones of his register. With shaky breath, you pick up the book and begin to read again.

“How unlucky that you—”

“You skipped ahead,” Namjoon corrects, never faltering in his movements.

“Too bad—,” you gasp, as he adds a second finger. “How unlucky that you— fuck Namjoon — should have a reasonable answer to give— ah!— and, and th-that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you!”

You can’t ignore it any longer and it finally hits, your orgasm spilling out from your center and into every limb of your body. The book falls from your hand to the floor as the whole world is colored pink, your hips lifting from the mattress, Namjoon’s mouth still working steadily against you.

In the way that he has learned to read your body, he guides you through your orgasm until sensitivity over takes you and he eases his mouth off of you.

But before he move away, your hands are tangling in his hair and pulling him up to you, up to your lips, where you kiss him, sleepily, fervishly, with everything left in your body as your nerves still sing in the soft comedown of orgasm. 

You kiss him, hands desperate to pull him closer, closer—

“Please—” you gasp. “Please fuck me.”

That please hits him right in the chest. Right where those warm feelings swirl when you look at him with wide eyes, when you wrap your hand around his bicep and pull him into a shop, when you cuddle up close to him when you’re both sleeping. That please is everything to him. Laced with desperation and desire and need. Need for him.

He settles over your body, arms framed around your head. When he pushes in, you gasp.

You fuck slow. Breath moving in tandem, your body stretching to accommodate him. You’re already glowing from your first orgasm, and having him within you is everything more, an additional brightness you couldn’t have even imagined before it was there, within you.

As with everything he does, he concentrates, his mind sharpened to a point. But this time it is directed at you. At times, this kind of intensity makes you want to shy away from it, from the sharpness of his attentions. But when you let yourself relax against it, it’s like letting him into your mind too, letting him see you for who and what you truly are.

And in this moment what he sees is this: a person entirely enthralled in pleasure, entirely wrapped up in love for him.

Your bodies move together in the way that they have learned to. Limbs fallen into place, hands tracing the familiar curves of the other, tracing what has already been carved into memory, but still delighted in its continued presence.

Pleasure blooms between you, breath turns into cries for oxygen, for more, until both of you are falling into each other, overcome with ecstasy.

He finishes with a groan, his body stiffening and then relaxing as he cries your name. And then he stays inside you, pressing his thumb to your clit until you’re coming undone a second time and he’s swallowing the sounds of pleasure — the sounds of pleasure he caused, he notes with pride — directly from your mouth.

And then the two of you settle into each other.

Something like sleep — but softer, more alive —  washes over you both as he settles at your back and wraps his whole body around you. Your breath falls into rhythm and his callused fingertips dance along the skin of your belly. 

You wish it didn’t have to be anything more than this, but soon the call of your to-do list is singing again and you can’t settle down. When you try to pull away, his arm wraps tight around your waist.

“Rest, darling. Rest just for a moment longer,” he says, the deepness of his voice turning the plea into more of a command. “You’ll do better later if you rest now.”

“Why?” You sigh. “I have to work.”

“Why? You have to rest. And you have to rest because I love you.”

You huff. “Why?”

“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well,” Namjoon quotes, the words brushing against the shell of your ear. As his body settles around yours, you finally give in.