Smoke Me.

Chapter 21: Pitter-Patter

AN: This chapter, and the next four, are from Namjoon's point of view.

Mom told me that a woman never forgets her first man.

When she was drunk enough, she'd tell me how she still misses her first and that no one, not even my dad, could ever compare.

'Jungkook smells weird right now.'

All floral or fruity flavors used to mask the taste and smell of alcohol last until it hits the back of your throat. And then it festers in the stomach, mating with every pore. And the race begins in which the body tried tries to get every drop out as fast as possible. Back through the mouth, urine, or sweat.

Even if the person doesn't usually sweat, in a few hours, the skin will get coated in this thin layer of toxic waste that smells like the worst perfume that can't be replicated.

But I still pressed my lips against his skin.

I traced the bones that stuck out. Ribs, hipbones, and collarbone.

Eyes shut and heavy breaths were all I got in return.

If he was awake, he wouldn't have seen me tracing a sensorial map with my fingers either way.

Because I didn't know how much longer I could simply caress without pulling, kiss without biting, and tease without violating.

I wanted to make him mine.

He wasn't mine.

He wouldn't be able to sleep if he was.

Lean against other men if he knew.

But right now, I had no right.

'We are young. He is drunk. And a virgin.'

A fear that had no bounds.

How would he go somewhere else to satisfy his sexual needs if his only sexual need so far consisted of one orgasm that lasted less than five minutes a day?

I knew he wouldn't cheat on me right now. But the thought that someone else might do him and that he'd crave that person for the rest of his life simply because it was his first made me hear a clock ticking in the background of our silent lives.

'Ah, he's going to catch a cold.'

I should pick him up and put him to bed.

I thought about it.

But this naked body that innocently rested under my fingers made me linger.

The pain in the knees was nothing compared to the sick pleasure I felt while touching him. Even without his knowledge.

I wished I could see him.

But the thought of getting up and turning the lights on made me feel exposed.

I was his boyfriend.

But I hadn't been entirely honest.

The desire to shake him awake and make him scream under me was getting really irksome.

I abhorred his lack of stamina.

I was still hard and yet, I didn't want to be the one to touch myself.

And forcing him to touch me was not an option at this very moment.

I didn't mind that he rarely approached me himself. If ever.

But I minded how he was satisfied with only one orgasm.

How he could ignore my needs and go to sleep like everything was fine for everyone around him.