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Megan falls against the couch backstage, out of her pink stage outfit and into something more comfortable—still looking hot as fuck, but something she can lounge in until they finish up the show. The boys have to perform for another hour or so, but even ten minutes in front of a crowd like that has her buzzing.
She’s sold out stadiums more times than she can count. The thrill never goes away, but adding the thrill of performing in front of an audience that loves that much surrounding by seven beautiful men who couldn’t peel their eyes away from her—
It’s powerful.
Her eyes, in turn, are glued to the screen in the green room. They look incredible, even on the minuscule screen. She can dance, too, but dancing like that for hours at a time, the stamina—
Her gut clenches, the pulse in her all too familiar. She takes a sip from her water bottle, already half empty, and settles in to wait.
Namjoon can never get through a concert without soaking his stage costumes through with his sweat. The second he gets behind the final curtain he wipes the sweat out of his eyes, the dull roar behind him pulsing through his veins.
He fucking missed this. The adrenaline, the energy, the pulse in his core, the almost restless need to—
Well.
His bandmates are fist bumping and patting each other on the back on the way back to the green room. Yoongi is halfway through describing how quickly he’s going to fall asleep back in the hotel room when he sees her, sitting on the couch in a dress.
It’s not the one she showed up in, and it’s not the one she performed in. It hugs her like a second skin, emphasizing all the places his hands would—
Well.
Namjoon has to be very careful to keep his eyes on hers when she stands up.
He’s out of breath. From the performance, of course. Nothing else.
“I have no idea how y’all do that,” she says, walking straight towards Namjoon. The guys wave at her as they head back to get changed and shuffled away into their various vans.
Namjoon doesn’t. He smiles back at her with a hand extended, no cameras following their every move this time.
He laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand as she grabs the extended one. “Just a lot of practice, every day,” he says, bashful, “thank you so much for performing with us, it’s so incredible to share a stage with you.”
She laughs, throws her head back like he just said hilarious. Namjoon doesn’t think he said anything hilarious, but she laughs so fully, Namjoon can only smile.
She’s so free with herself, so happy to just be herself, in her words, “hot girl every season.” She laughs with her whole body, the line of her neck impossible to look away from.
It’s intoxicating. Namjoon can barely comprehend the way she exists in the world, breaking all the rules, and not only getting away with it but changing the world that made them.
“Well, I practice every day too and I could never go that long,” she says with a lilting smile, and Namjoon shakes himself back to the conversation. What are they talking about? Was that an innuendo? No, he tells himself, definitely not.
But then she looks him up and down, slowly. Her eyes linger on his thighs, and while Namjoon can be dense, she made that hard to miss.
Namjoon tilts his head at her appraisingly. His lungs are still burning from the workout, chest heaving as he tries to come down from the adrenaline high. His blood is pulsing, and she looks so good…
He decides to be stupid, just a little.
“Maybe I could show you, some time? You know,” he adds, taking a breath to prepare himself for the stupid shit he’s about to say, “just how long I can go.”
Even out of her heels, she’s almost as tall as he is. She doesn’t even have to angle her chin to match his gaze.
She smiles, her mouth opening to show him a hint of her tongue as she runs it along the back of her teeth.
“I thought I was the coach,” she says, looking him over once again. Namjoon’s muscles tighten.
He shrugs, pretending to be casual. “I teach you some things, you teach me, it can go both ways.”
She grin turns hungry as she bites her lower lip, making a show of her appreciation. Namjoon shivers. She shifts her weight back and looks not so subtly right at his hips, and then back up to his eyes.
There is no misunderstanding that.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, stepping closer, right into his space. Like this, they’re almost breathing the same air.
He glances around, makes sure all the important staff are looking in other directions, before whispering back: “You, I think.”
Namjoon has barely closed to door to the hotel room when he’s flipped around and slammed back into it with a kiss.
He melts into it immediately. She’s taller than most women he’s been with; she’s taller than most men he’s been with, too. She’s a force of nature, a force of will, and Namjoon doesn’t know how much he loves being pinned until he’s being pinned. The adrenaline pulses down his spine, melts into his stomach, and he can’t help but wind his arms around her waist and let her take charge.
She knows exactly what she wants and he is all too happy to give it to her.
Her hands are pulling at the hem of his shirt before he can even catch a breath, and when he raises his arms she pulls back, just enough, to pull it over his head and throw it somewhere for a hotel maid to find tomorrow.
Like magnets, they’re back together, her teeth on his lips. Inspired by her confidence, Namjoon’s hand finds the clasp at the top of her zipper while the other grabs at her soft waist.
He wants to do it one handed, he really does. It would be so cool if he could, but after a few seconds of his hands fumbling, he growls and gives in. He reluctantly moves the hand that had been traveling towards her ass to the closure, and in seconds her dress is unzipped.
For a second, he swears he grazes lace underneath. His mind turns static. Does she always wear lace lingerie, or is it for him.
As he hunts his brain for an answer, Megan steps back and Namjoon realizes he’d stopped breathing somewhere along the way. His eyes are still closed, but he immediately misses her soft heat against him.
She laughs at what must be his face, but holds on to his hand so gently.
“You know, rappers are really good with our tongues,” she drawls, and if Namjoon had any semblance of himself left he would be losing it, “do you want to show me what yours can do?”
Namjoon is broken. He wants that. He wants that so bad, holy shit. “Holy shit you’re so good at this, yes, yes.”
She laughs again and pulls him towards the bed, making sure he undresses on the way. Her dress slides down her soft skin and Namjoon’s mouth waters. His dick aches but all he’s thinking about now is what she might taste like. How her tits might feel in his hands, how her ass would look with his fingers digging into the flesh there.
He wonders is she’s wet, but then she takes off her bra and gets in bed. Just casually, like it’s nothing, making sure the pillows prop her up comfortably.
Namjoon’s mouth goes dry. She’s fucking angelic. She spreads her body out before him and suddenly, Namjoon is starving.
He pounces on the bed and he finds himself transfixed with the way her body moves with the movement. He kneels between her legs and licks his lips.
“Come on, baby,” she says with a low voice, “didn’t you promise to teach me a few things?”
He convinces his hands not to shake as he threads his fingers under her underwear and pulls them of her legs. He finds his earlier question answered immediately.
She is wet, just a little, but the glistening between her legs has him moving faster. Once her underwear is discarded, off with the rest of their scattered clothes, Namjoon positions himself. He hefts both of her legs over his shoulders and scoots down the bed, eye level with her soft folds, clit just barely starting to peek out under the hood.
He just breathes there for a moment, feels her twitch against his lips.
Her fingers twine in his hair and pull him closer. He smiles against her and starts with a lick.
The fingers in his hair tighten and she breathes out a sigh. Every reaction gives him confidence, and Namjoon ups the ante, sucking on her clit before licking inside of her.
He knows her moans, knows them from her music and from her persona, but the ones that Namjoon rips out of Megan with his tongue are like fucking drugs. When he goes back to teasing her now fully exposed bud, he lets a finger slip in to replace his tongue, feeling along the wet walls for the place that will make her scream.
When she screams, he smiles and adds another.
“Smug,” she pants, “bastar—“ but she can’t even finish the sentence, her voice stolen by a moan when he presses just a little bit harder, focusing his fingertips right where she needs them.
That’s the first time she comes around Namjoon.
He promised her stamina, though.
When her hole clenches around his fingers, the muscles pulsing so intensely he has to work to keep himself inside of her, he keeps going.
When the nails against his scalp press almost painfully, he keeps going.
Because in between her massive, heaving breaths, Namjoon can just barely make out a mantra of yes, yes, right there, oh my god.
Namjoon thinks he could keep going forever if he has this music to keep him full.
The second time she comes feels much the same, and Namjoon is distinctly aware of his own cock, weeping against the blankets. He can only imagine how that would feel around his dick. He whines against her skin.
“Ok, ok,” she sighs as the waves of pleasure even out, “you proved yourself.”
When Namjoon pulls away, her salty sweetness is dripping down his grin.
She laughs and untangles her legs from his shoulders, kneeling in front of him with a smile to match his own.
“Now it’s my turn,” she says with a kiss, and Namjoon’s back hits the pillows as she straddles him. She reaches over to the condoms on the bedside table and quickly rolls it over his length.
Before Namjoon can even process what’s happening, she’s positioning herself over his cock and sinking down, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth parted.
It’s so fast, Namjoon chokes on a groan and grabs her hips. He can’t help but want to be closer, and when he sits up to kiss her he finds himself right at nipple level, the perfect brown buds just asking him to suck.
Her breasts are heavy in his hands, but before he can really consider the way her skin dents under his fingertips, she bounces, just to test out the motion. Namjoon sucks her into his mouth just to stifle the sounds.
Namjoon knows good sex. Megan clearly knows good sex, too. She plays him like a fucking fiddle, moving his head wherever she wants his mouth with deft fingers while she bounces like a fucking metronome.
If Namjoon hadn’t promised stamina, he would have come in seconds.
But he did, and he’s a gentleman, so he kisses her and holds on.
When she moans against his lips and her muscles clench around his cock, he can’t hold on any longer.
He bites her shoulder as he comes, his eyes clenched so tightly he sees stars. For her, though, it seems like it goes on forever. When Namjoon is oversensitive and done, she’s still riding out the last waves of her orgasm with little movements of her hips.
Finally, finally, she flops off of him with a groan.
“Round two?” she asks with a coy little grin, and Namjoon is just so aware of the fact that he just danced for three hours straight and then fucked for another. He breathes against the pillows and closes his eyes.
“I did promise you stamina,” he says, finally, but his eyelids are so heavy.
In a softer voice, she adds, “And you, like, completely have.”
Namjoon lets out a breath before she continues with: “Shower and sleep?”
Namjoon could cry.
“Yeah,” he smiles, eyes still closed.
Megan leaves in the early hours of the morning with a kiss on his forehead and a promise to compare notes next time.
Namjoon falls back into a comfortable sleep with the promise of next time.