The Siren's Song

Chapter 118- dancing through the ages

(Y/N) POV:

There's only glittering eyes hazed with desire and drink. There's something about the way Hobi tilts into me, lets me drag him closer, mouths slick against each other. Hands raking feverishly over my curves, dragging me all the more closer, fingers entangling into my hair to tug my lips to his. Bruising flesh soft and giving until it's not. Until it's demanding and taking just as intensely.

There's something so intense about the way Hobi dances, about the way he lives and breathes, about the way he tugs me nearer, as if there's too much space and oxygen between us until he's swallowing down the sounds he wrenches from me.

There's only arousal and desire that bubbles through my veins, intoxicating and heady, following the lure of steps backtracking and fumbling against the stairs, laughs soft and laden with want as my fingers curl into fabric, tug him into the curved crevices of my body, chasing the warmth of his body, the heady honey of the rough sounds spilling from his mouth.

And he moves with fluidity. Moves as if he knows the map of my body intimately already, as if his hands ache to trace me under his palms. Moving with unfaltering ease inside his house, my mind dizzy and drunk on the taste of him, the way Hobi's lips curl up. Infectious giddiness pressed to the parted seam of my mouth.

Stumbling up the steps, hand steering me towards the door. Somehow getting lost on the way. Lips chasing mine, pressing to the curve of my jaw and down the line of my throat that tilts back in welcomed invite, hand cradling the back of my head. The press of a muscled thigh slotted between my own, body pressing me to the wall, the line of muscles pressing me there, fingers fumbling with a feverishness that burns through conscious thought of any other noise, any other figure that's not him, tugging Hobi further into me. Drunk on the sensations he lathes over every sensitive slither of skin.

"Hoseok—Hobi stop, stop..." words laughed out, huffed with an unevenness to my breathing. Lips lingering against my pulse, teeth relinquishing their hold from where they'd nipped marks down the column of my neck to look at me.

He looks as undone as I feel, ruined just by kissing Hobi.

His lips curve up with a giddy warmth and ease that invites my body all the more closer despite our lips being a hairbreadth apart, eager to chase the heat of his mouth. Eyes tracing his features. Tracing the lack of control bleeding into his movements.

Hoseok's a dancer, everything about him so precise, so calculated but in this moment he looks far from put together. A coil of satisfaction that winds itself around me at knowing I've done that.

Watch his throat bob. Watch his stare turn heavy as he looks at me in turn. Eyes darkened and dilated—gaze reflecting back just how wrecked I look and feel. But I search for cognizance, search for clarity and consciousness. Search for Hobi and that he's not lost to drink and irrationality. Quietly, my eyes scan for that paranoid shiver that checks for Hobi and not an echo of siren-allure, as if some of it might've seeped off me unknowingly, unbidden. His fingers slip upwards, a lazy trace across my collarbones before they crook my jaw down, tilting my lips back to his.

Something so hypnotic about him that for a moment I wonder if this is how it feels. The allure. The inescapable want to be nearer, nearer, nearer.

Voice a low lilted murmur that drags my eyes to his, tearing away from the curve of his mouth.

"I'm not about to take advantage of my boyfriend if he's drunk or tipsy." Eyes gauging as they search his.

In response Hobi's hand clasps my hip.

Body tilting closer.

Eyes raking over me. The image of him, the sight of him dancing, holding me, guiding me burnt into my mind. Branded across the inside of my eyes, flashing before my eyes even now, remembering the swayed motion of his body. Practiced and confident.