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Yi An watches his sister-in-law’s eyes track her husband’s departure. She takes a seat only after the door closes behind him, and only breathes out once she hears his car engine start up. Yi An often suspects his brother’s restless tendencies are a craving for the isolation he has made his best friend. Now, it is just him and his sister-in-law and the last bottle of soju on the table between them, a cruel bet.
“Was His Majesty very harsh?” she asks him, as they both breathe uneasy.
She opens the bottle slowly, pours them a cup each, too, slowly. Yi An takes the cup and observes the rim, deliberates his answer.
“Nothing more than the usual.”
And then the usual settles between them: Yi An’s excellence, his existence, the very threat of his being. He knows she is more sensitive to this than most, or at the very least, more willing to look this in the eye than most.
They drink. The silence simmers. His shirt’s top button gives way first, then hers, and then his throat clears.
“Another?”
She nods, they drink again. She is trying so valiantly to avoid his gaze – she is stuck in the bottom of her cup.
“Your Royal Highness —”
“Your Royal Highness —”
Yi An motions for her to speak first. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, polishing the edge of propriety off.
“If we keep doing this, we will invite unsavoury rumours.”
And in his youth and insolence, he asks, “Doing what?”
Under the table, his foot runs up her calf.
+
“Relax,” Yi An breathes into her ear. “No one is here. No one is waiting for me. They know I always sleep over on your sofa after drinking with hyungnim.”
“Yi An,” she still reprimands, her hand tight in his hair. His desire is so big and clumsy, equal rebellion and lust.
He kisses down her neck, saliva cooling on her sweat-sheen skin, inhales deep between her breasts. She reaches to unbutton the rest of her shirt but he stops her.
“Can I do it?”
She pushes her thigh between his legs to make him hiss. Message received, he stops asking and focuses on undressing her; shirt unbuttoned, trousers unfastened, and his hands on the clasp of her bra.
“Hyeongsu-nim…”
She pulls him up by his hair again. Sear their eyes into each other’s, to shift to relieve the way her neck folds against the arm of the sofa.
“Are you going to keep calling me that?” She tilts her head, allows the slow cascade of her hair to unfurl. She’s not entirely sure what she should expect. Darling? Slut?
Yi An unclasps her bra and drops it to the floor. He has his forehead pressed into her chest when he says, in a clear and soft voice, “Noona?”
“Fuck.” Her legs tighten around his hips, and he must sense just how aroused she is.
“Allow me, noona,” he decides, emboldened.
His grin is as infuriating as his deftness. He sits back on his heels and peels off her trousers, unbuttons his own shirt enough that she has the privilege to push it off his shoulders. A moment just enough to admire his well-built chest and abs; he’s standing up to unbutton his trousers.
She sits up, too, and sticks out a hand to stop him. Slowly, she pops the button and pulls the zip down. A moment later, smooth fabric pools at Yi An's feet, and he steps out of it soundly.
He must be expecting to get his dick sucked, what with that posture, with her hand firm on his hardening crotch. They still in this one feeling, and then he dares to cup her cheek, standing over her with some awe and some authority.
“I…” she meets his eyes plainly. “I need some more preparation.”
“You are strangely forthcoming, noona.”
She tightens her grip for a second. “We crossed the line long back. Why be anything but forthcoming?”
He shrugs, as if to say, that's true. He is still caressing her cheek. His eyes, when she bores hers into them, reflect an indulgent tenderness.
“Lie down. I can give you a thorough… preparation.”
+
Yi An is strangely candid as he kisses her body. His lips are soft and delicate and so, so slow, bubbling an aching intimacy. He notices she is ticklish when the ends of his hair brush the curve of her waist, and he ghosts his breath over there, their quiet laughs echoing in tandem.
“Hyeongsu-nim,” he murmurs, “Sejabin…”
Oh, God.
Unassumingly, he allows his fingers to trail down, hovering over her lace-lipped underwear. He removes his intoxicating presence from looming over her chest, shuffles on his knees until they cradle her ankles and he can lean cleanly and kiss her navel. For a second, he rests his chin there, eyes alight and playful.
“You’re a mess,” he mouths. “Noona likes this?”
“Yes,” she breathes out, betraying whatever high-order cognitive functioning she is steadily losing. “Noona likes this a lot.”
He resumes kissing her there, tantalizingly going lower. Her hands wind into the back of his head again.
“His Royal Highness,” her words keep betraying her, “Your brother never does this for me.”
She wills herself to look back at him, and he is caught, the lace of her underwear in his teeth. He lets it go and it snaps back into place.
“Hyungnim does not know what he has,” Yi An says, his voice low and eyes dark. “How fortunate for us. How lucky I am.”
So full of empty and cocksure praise. She should find this off-putting, but his actions are so sincere. She feels the movement in his shoulder as he brings a hand up, traces it up her body until he reaches her face. She opens her mouth and holds two fingers in, salt and weight, holds his heavy gaze. He withdraws his fingers and pulls her underwear off. She watches him watch. His fingers massage slowly, cooling saliva on wet heat.
“Goodness,” Yi An exhales, his focus split between his working hands and her severe face, counting her rough breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. She uses one hand to cover her mouth and leaves the other in his hair, her one tether.
“Hyungnim does not know what he has,” he says, again. “Fuck,” as he opens her up more, and she is losing all sense, her eyes slipping shut, when Yi An says, “Fuck, I should be the Crown Prince.”
And on instinct, she yanks his head up, and slaps him across the face.
They are in a stalemate of angry gazes for two panting breaths. Yi An opens his mouth, his cheek reddening, and then they both feel an oozing wetness coat his fingers.
Tears spring to her eyes. She has to bite her lip, but she can't look away.
“Noona,” Yi An recovers his playful meanness. “What is the meaning of this?”
And she only whimpers, the hand that slapped him now covering her own mouth, as he hotly licks into her.
+
Minutes later, Yi An fucks into her with a measured slowness. Her legs bracket his hips, her arms are locked over the back of his neck. Her panting mouth finds a willing audience against the side of his face and at times his ear, until at a high-pitched gasp he turns his head and locks their lips.
“Just kiss me,” he murmurs, his sweaty forehead against hers.
And she does when the urge to moan bubbles up - he grips the arm of the sofa over her head with one hand and uses his other to push her knees up to her chest. An ex of his must have taught him how to pleasure a woman, because he is dizzyingly capable.
She’s trapped in the rhythm of their eyes meeting, pleading, their faces colliding in synchronised sighs.
“You look...” he breathes out, “You look so angry with me, Sejabin.”
She tightens her arms so hard that it brings his face crashing down into her. “I wish I could bite you,” she says.
He stills, leaving her deep and full and on the edge. His breath stutters, too, and his teeth tease on the flesh of her breast. “You can slap me again. Shall I curse out your husband? Does that get you going?”
She strokes the side of his face with her thumb. He is so boy-ish, so arrogant and assuming. If there is any moment to unleash that rage in her, it is now, she supposes.
“Show me again,” hoarsely, she asks, “Show me again what your brother is missing out on.”
“With pleasure,” Yi An promises.
He kisses her neck, so much more deliberate now, up the side of her face, between her eyes. “Relax,” he whispers to her forehead. “You are always so tense here. Just breathe out, noona.”
She breathes out. Once, twice, thrice, until he hums pleasantly and kisses her forehead again. Then he captures her lips, building a languid rhythm, and begins fucking her again. He is so attentive now, whispering between kisses, so fucking hot, noona, when you look so mad it really turns me on, and the one that gets to her the most, Hyungnim has no idea, does he?
And Yi An is so strangely princely, too. He comes over her abdomen, and then immediately works to make her cum, lips and tongue and fingers quick. He catches his breath with his forehead in the junction where her thigh meets her hip, with her hand in his hair, running in a quiet wave.
Eventually, he comes up for a kiss, which she gives giddily. This moment, on the sofa in her living room, the heady weight of her brother-in-law, the heat that only exists between them, this moment to-be-forgotten — this is going to be the desire that propels all her restraint.