Chapter Text
The NDA in your hands isn’t hard to understand. It outlines much that you’d expect: don’t tell anyone, don’t post about it, don’t allude to any sort of relation to the idol in question.
Essentially: pretend this never happened.
It’s simple enough. But you’re shaking, nervous and in disbelief at what you’re really holding. You’ve only really heard of this happening online, rumors and speculations about those who’ve caught the eye of their favorite idols. The idea shouldn't even have gotten around, but it has and you didn’t believe it until now.
You gulp, hovering the pen given to you over the last box requiring your signature.
The whole situation is nothing but surreal. Questions flit through your head over the span of it all. Why you? Were you randomly picked from the crowd? Have you caught someone’s attention? You’re dressed quite similarly to other concert goers. It’s hard to fathom that you were distinguished among others if you’re being honest with yourself.
You sigh, deciding to say “fuck it” before signing and handing that clipboard back to Rafayel’s manager. A bit embarrassing that you know him by name too just by association.
He grabs the clipboard from your hands, looking it over to make sure everything is in check, before looking back at you again. He gives you a weird look in a way that makes you question whether or not you made the right decision before he sighs in resignation. It would be a shame to chicken out of a once in a lifetime opportunity.
He looks down at his watch before looking at your awkward stance again. “They’ll be back at their hotel by midnight,” he hands you a paper with an address on it.
You gulp before nodding, holding the slip with both hands. It was scary enough to be led backstage by the concert venue’s bodyguards. But to be told to meet a man in his hotel later that same night is a whole other thing, no matter how much of a fan you are of said man.
“Will I not be questioned?,” you ask.
Thomas shakes his head, typing away at his phone as he answers. “I’ll meet you there and the staff will be made aware of your company,” he looks up at you one last time, taking in how anxious you look, “The decision is still yours, by the way. If you’d rather go home, that is perfectly up to you.”
You worry your bottom lip, looking away to not show your confliction to the other man. “Thank you,” you bow, “Um, how do I leave?” You look left and right, not quite sure how you’re going to slip out from being backstage.
Thomas calls over one of the venue’s bodyguards and you bow goodbye to him one last time before you’re led out and to one of the exits in the back, away from the public eye.
You show up to the hotel intentionally late, not wanting to look overly excited. It’s a bit of the truth, really, you’re nervous more than anything. Not only will you be meeting your favorite idol one on one, you’ll also be meeting on the pretense of sex? A bit odd. You wonder how often this happens.
You walk through the double doors of the hotel awkwardly, watching your cab drive off beforehand just for the excuse to not walk through those doors faster. Thomas is waiting for you in the front, just as he said, and he waves when he sees your familiar attire.
“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” he tries making conversation when you meet him.
You shrug. “Yeah, well,” you don’t know where to go from there. You don’t really want to talk about how you’re there to fuck one of the members of the group he works for.
He drops the topic after that, the conversation just as awkward for him, and he leads you to the elevators and up to the floor where the members of your favorite group of all time rest. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. You were already freaking out over getting barricade at your first ever concert and seeing them up close in person. This just feels like something out of a fever dream.
Soon enough you find yourself in front of a door behind Thomas, the other man knocking on it in a way that seems hesitant.
You don’t know how to react when your bias, main vocalist of EVOL, Rafayel, opens the door. You know it will be him. His name was on the NDA and Thomas was supervising the whole exchange and yet it still feels surreal to be face to face with him somewhere as mundane as the hallway of a hotel.
Rafayel looks at you and you basically freeze.
“Uh, yeah, um,” Thomas stutters between you and Rafayel. He looks away from Rafayel, turning towards you as if too embarrassed at knowing what his employer will be up to for the night. He points down the hall. “I’ll be in that room over there. I’ll fetch you a ride when… you’re done.”
Your face burns at the implication and Thomas awkwardly leaves down the hall and you’re left alone with none other than the idol you’ve been following for years now.
He smiles down at you. It’s friendly enough. “Come in,” he steps aside and your shoulders hitch before you do as he says, clutching the straps of your bag. He closes the door behind you and it feels even more surreal being in an enclosed space with no one other than him.
He steps past you while you remain by the door, throwing his coat on the floor while he loosens the top few buttons of his shirt.
“How was the concert?”
You blink. What a casual question.
You shuffle on your feet. “It was fun?”
This is so weird.
“Yeah?,” he looks at you by the door and you stiffen again. “What’s in the bag?,” he points to the bag on your shoulder.
It takes a few seconds for you to register what he said before you answer. “Oh, um,” you adjust the bag on your shoulder, “It’s freebies and stuff from the concert.”
He ah’s in amusement. “Can I see?”
You furrow your eyebrows. This is not at all what you thought this interaction would be but you’re a little relieved it didn’t start with the man of your adoration getting straight to business by stripping. You think you would puke.
You take a few tentative steps forward until you’re standing by the foot of his bed. You gesture stiffly to ask if you can set the bag on his bed and he nods with a smile. You feel him step beside you to look at what you’re doing and you can feel your ears start to burn.
“Some LOVEs like to give away stuff like this,” you begin, pulling out fanmade photostrips, bracelets, keychains. You hope he’s not weirded out. It’s one thing to pride yourself in fan culture with other fans but to show your favorite idol your little collection of photos and trinkets with his and his members names on it feels a little silly.
“Have you given away any?”
If you were more calm and the sound of your own heartbeat wasn’t blaring in your ears maybe you would catch on to how deliberate his trail of questions are. But you don’t and you nod stiffly.
“Yeah! I do stuff like this,” you take out a small pouch that holds the extras of the freebies you gave away, little mock photocards with your drawings of each of the boys. You feel him breathing over your shoulder and you don’t dare meet his gaze.
“Are there any of me?”
You look at the clear pouch in your hands where a mini drawing of Zayne stares back at you. You open the pouch, sifting through your small collection of extras before plucking one out of Rafayel.
“Just one.”
He takes the laminated paper from your hand and you really do turn this time if only to gauge his reaction to your drawing of him. His was the one you were most proud of.
He studies the photocard before a smile erupts on his face. “Cute,” he looks away to look at you and you hope you don’t look too giddy at his reaction, “What program do you use?”
“Clip studio.”
“The brushes?”
“I just use the standard ones…” You haven’t invested in buying others.
He hums. “Can I keep this?”
“Yeah! Of course.”
“Thank you,” he places the little paper on his nightstand. “Okay, that’s all.”
You blink. “Hm?”
“You can go home now.”
You blanch and you can’t stop yourself from blurting your next set of words. “That’s all?”
Rafayel gives you a knowing look, his smile bordering on a smirk. “What were you expecting?”
Those words reverberate in your head. You’ve been nervous, anxious, up until this point. There really is only one thing to expect when asked to meet someone in their room. He hadn’t interacted with you himself, having someone like Thomas do all the work until you showed up here. And now he’s stringing you along like you’re stupid.
You’re a fan following the lead of your idol blindly.
It hits you right then and there. He may be your idol, but he’s also just a man. He’s messing with you, playing with you knowing that someone like you would jump at an opportunity like this. And now he denies your presumptions. You huff, that one expression annoying you enough to grab your bag off the bed, slinging it back over your shoulder with finality.
“Nothing. If that was it, I’ll leave you alone. It was nice meeting you.” You make your way towards the door, missing the way he watches you in amusement. Perhaps he didn’t expect anger of all things, an unexpected reaction towards someone you hold on a pedestal. He catches your wrist the same time you’re grabbing the doorknob, eliciting a gasp out of you.
“It’s not nice to lie.”
You roll your eyes away from view before addressing him with your back turned towards him. Admittedly, you’re surprised he even stopped you. If anything, you’re doing him a favor by initiating the end result of the NDA early. “Don’t get into your head about it.”
“I don’t think I am if it’s obvious.”
“If it’s so obvious, why can’t you say it?,” you challenge him, turning around to lift your chin. Ever a man, you can feel his ego boost at the implication that you wanted him in some way or form. It should be obvious anyway, you are his fan.
He looks at you with pleasant surprise. He’s having fun.
“You wanted to fuck.”
You scowl past the heat that blooms on your cheeks. “When someone asks to meet them at their hotel in the middle of the night, yeah, I did expect something along those lines,” you defend yourself.
“Hm,” he gauges the displeasure on your face, “That’s dangerous.”
“I could always scream for help if you touched me in a way I didn’t like.”
He crosses his arms, still close enough where you can’t escape but he no longer touches you. He gauges your face, your body language. You’re still angled half away from him, not facing him directly but not with your back towards him. You’re on guard, ready to fight or run to defend yourself should Rafayel anger you any more. It’s surprising, really, the way you don’t fall on your knees for him. It’s a bit of a stereotype. But he’s glad to see not all of his admirers follow him like sheep. “Has your perception of me changed?”
You raise your eyebrows, remembering then that you’re arguing with Rafayel, the idol. You know him in a way that he doesn’t about you. But he has an image projected onto him that he isn’t channeling to you at this very moment. And to him, you’re just a fan. But you’ve watched countless videos of him, listened to his music, studied him more intimately as an artist.
You lean your head back against the door, taking in the man you’ve only seen through screens until today. His gaze is predatory as he looks down at you.
“Not really, you’ve always come off as a wolf in sheep's clothing.” That’s what you liked about him, the mystery. He raises his eyebrows. “But you always gave me the impression of being a good boy anyway.”
His chest heaves. “A good boy? Really?” He leans in with a smile and you realize then that he’s enjoying the banter.
You nod, not backing down no matter how much the man tries to intimidate you. He’s fishing for compliments and you oblige him if only to mess with him further. Two can play at this game. “Your performance was amazing tonight.”
“What was amazing about it?”
“Your voice. Your dancing. The energy you exude. Your charisma and stage presence. It’s alluring.”
His smile disappears the more and more you speak, looking almost flustered if you’d believe it. He regards you for a second before he gulps.
“I can perform even better.”
Your eyes widen in surprise at the way he crowds you against the door and you can’t help but look down at the obvious way his erection strains against his pants.
“I thought you wanted me to leave.”
“I changed my mind,” he studies your face, the red of your ears and the furrow of your brows, “Unless you want to leave?”
You smirk at him. “See? A good boy.”
His lips part at your insistence. “I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t like.”
“How sweet.” You knew this. You’ve watched so many clips of him. You’re just surprised to see how intimidating he could be when he wanted to. He usually came off as bubbly and hyper-energetic during performances and in videos.
“You were trying to scare me just before,” you accuse him and the act he’s been putting on.
“In all honesty,” he tilts his head, “A fan accepting to meet their idol at their room? That’s a call for disaster.” He pushes back at your sentiment.
You cross your arms, not appreciating the judge of your character. “You had them pull me backstage first.”
“I did.”
“I don’t think it’s fair for you to judge me for accepting. You’re just as weird for picking a fan to bed anyway. The power dynamic is egregious.”
His smile only widens and you realize you’re only feeding into his fun by arguing. “Who says I planned to bed you?”
“You had me sign an NDA!”
He shrugs. “You can never be too safe.”
You huff. What a weird guy. “So,” you look down at his erection before meeting his eye deliberately, “What do you want?”
He answers by lifting a hand and he hovers over your hip, meeting your eye in silent question. You don’t nod, but you don’t stop him, a silent sign of consent and he grabs your hip, pulling you close enough to feel his erection press against your front.
“You’re fun,” he continues his false persona of confidence and suave, one you’ve seen through almost immediately and have been playing into, “We could play out that fantasy of yours.”
“My fantasy,” you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him that it’s him who picked you out of the crowd first.
He grips your hip tighter, leaning in closer to meet you face to face. The blush on your cheeks feel like they’re never going to fade away. What a handsome man.
“You’re cute,” he says more genuinely as his eyes flit around your face, making your cheeks burn even brighter, “I saw you jumping around. Right at the front.”
You nearly choke, looking away and breaking out of your act. He’s noticed you more than once it seems. How… embarrassing?
Rafayel snorts at your reaction, he too also realizing that you’ve been putting on a false act of confidence. “Let’s lay down some rules.”
You meet his gaze again before nodding. He lifts a finger with his other hand.
“First: no kissing.”
You raise your eyebrows. It’s not the first rule you expected but he’s always claimed to be a romantic in his interviews. You suppose that’s something you can check off as a for sure truth. You’re just a hookup. No kissing.
You nod. He lifts up a second finger.
“Second: no marks.”
This one makes more sense. He’s an idol. Evidence of hooking up would do horrible for his reputation. You’ve seen other idols receive backlash in the past for evidence of a significant other or hookup, as dumb as it may seem. You don’t wish that on Rafayel.
He lifts a third finger.
“Last: we’re strangers after this.”
This was reiterated in the NDA. He’s also come off as a very private person. There’s little detail about his personal life outside of what he claims himself in variety shows and interviews. You don’t know how much of what he says is true, but that isn’t for fans to speculate. He doesn’t want you to think you know him after this. Got it.
“Got it.”
He studies you some more before he adds a fourth finger.
“Actually, one more.” You tilt your head in confusion. “If at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me.”
What a gentleman. You smile at him more genuinely. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He lifts you then, his hands gripping under your thighs in a way where could do nothing but wrap your legs around his waist. You gasp with it and you drop your bag on the floor to wrap your arms around him. Your heart is pounding nonstop. You can’t believe this is happening.
He walks you to the bed, dropping you with a bounce. He crawls over you and freezes at the sight of you sprawled out beneath him.
“Hey, what’s your name?,” he looks at you with wide eyes. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the question, the absurdity of the situation really hitting you right then and there. You’ve known him for years. He doesn’t know you at all. He looks sheepish at the sight of your laughter and you give him your name. He repeats it to make sure he heard you right and you nod. “Sorry, my manners are horrible.”
He seems awkward on top of you, like he doesn’t know what to do next. He twiddles with the end of your short dress with his fingers. “Cute dress.”
You give him a weird look. “Thanks?” It was just a white, frilly one. The concept of the latest comeback had been underwater themed. The skirt of your dress was poofy to give off a jellyfish look.
You blink at him when he doesn’t move past hovering over you. But there’s one thing you do notice even within the dim lighting of his room: his ears have darkened quite a bit, a dark red.
“You’re all talk,” you play that part of confidence again and his eyes widen. “You’re nervous.”
He scowls at you in a way that tells you you’re right. His hand slips under your dress then to grip your thigh, spreading your legs so that he could settle between them. He leans into your face and your facade breaks at the proximity.
“Tell me then, what would you like me to do?”
He’s asking you? If anything, you thought he would mostly take control of the situation.
He moves his right hand when you don’t answer him fast enough. His fingertips skim up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before they land on your collarbones.
“I can touch you here,” his fingers trail down, brushing against your breast over your dress. He looks you in the eye, waiting for any sign of discomfort before he continues. “Or,” his other hand, still on your thigh, trails up between your legs and you can’t help them from twitching when his fingertips just barely brush against the cloth of your panties. “Here?,” he gives you a knowing smile at your reaction.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He removes his hands to pluck at the sleeves of your dress. “Should we get these off?” He looks at you with a more honest look again despite the teasing lilt to his voice. He’s genuinely asking if you’re comfortable undressing or not.
You sit up, reaching behind you to try unzipping the back of your dress but you struggle.
“Let me,” Rafayel offers to help and you drop your hands only to feel your face explode at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you to help unzip the back of your dress. The fabric loosens around you when he’s done and he helps you slide the garment up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.
You settle onto the pillows again and he gulps at the sight of you almost nude beneath him.
“Nervous still?,” you tease if only to block out the voices telling you how bizarre it is that your bias sits above you looking at your bare breasts now.
Rafayel frowns and you drop the act. “The rules go both ways,” you start at the sight of his hesitation, “If at any point you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me.”
Rafayel looks genuinely surprised at the sentiment and he smiles, huffing a small laugh. He settles a hand atop one of your breasts and you gasp.
“That’s sweet.” His thumb brushes against your nipple and you release that breath. And then his hand trails over your stomach and down to settle over your panties. “This is where you want me, no?”
You gulp. “Yes.”
He seems just as nervous, gulping as he trails those fingers further down and right over that damp spot. There’s no more hiding just how aroused you are at the situation, no matter how nervewracking it is.
He presses down at the spot and you twitch.
“You better hurry,” you speak up, your voice quiet within the tense atmosphere. Rafayel blinks at you cluelessly. “Isn’t tomorrow day two for Linkon?”
It feels funny reminding him of his own schedule, another reminder at how much more you know about him than he does of you. But you remember debating going to day one or day two yourself, deciding on the former. You don’t want to be the reason he gets less sleep for his performance tomorrow. He’s still wearing the black, bedazzled dress shirt from the last set of today’s show. He’s clearly already running short on time.
He clicks his tongue and his fingers rub at you through your panties more assertively, making you twitch more. “I’ll just have to make sure you’re satisfied sooner.”
His fingers hook within the elastic of your panties and he pulls down, leaving you fully nude while he stays completely dressed. It’s not fair, but who are you to ask him to undress?
“Tell me,” his fingers skim over the slick of your folds, “What do you like?”
He asks you what you want again and you’re starting to get the sense that he truly means for you to tell him, ready to please. You inhale and exhale, willing yourself to get over your anxiety over the situation. You’re leaking profusely already without any sort of stimulation yet, admittedly, aroused at the sight of your fantasies playing out right in front of you. Rafayel read you spot on.
And so you sit up, settling your hands on Rafayel’s shoulders to push him down. He follows your lead willingly, sliding down the bedsheets of the large bed until he’s face to face with your slick center. Your chest is heaving, seeing him there and he looks at you with just as red cheeks as your own. His hands grip the insides of your thighs spreading you even further and you’re surprised you haven’t died on the spot.
“Here?,” Rafayel’s breath fans over your sex and you shudder. You settle on your elbows, admiring the view. You nod and watch as he leans further and further in until the flat of his tongue runs over the expanse of your folds, starting from your entrance and all the way up. You gasp and he watches your reaction much the same. The eye contact is unbearable, but you can’t look away. He repeats the gesture and you’re getting antsy, knowing that the night must end soon and you still have yet to reach your end, to feel that earth-shattering pleasure you so crave now with this extended tension. And so you sit up further, settling your hand on the back of Rafayel’s head to guide him further up until his tongue settles over your throbbing clit and your legs twitch violently.
Rafayel’s eyes widen with your reaction and his breath shudders. His left hand travels down from your thigh to your folds, spreading you open to suckle on your clit, a more targeted, deliberate action and you whimper.
That small sound from your throat makes something in him snap and he licks and sucks on your clit with more vigor. You fall back on the bed, grasping the bedsheets when you could no longer find the strength to watch. His hands hold your legs open when your thighs instinctively try to close at the overwhelming pleasure and you could do nothing but lay there and accept the feel of his slick tongue.
You slap a hand over your mouth when the first moan escapes your lips, something louder and fuller than a whine, and you feel Rafayel leave your sensitive clit to lean up and pull your wrist away.
“Don’t,” he sounds out of breath and his fingers replace where his tongue just was, rubbing and playing with your clit. You cry out in pleasure and he leans his head against your thigh, watching the way you leak. One hand holding your wrist down while the other plays with you. “You sound so pretty.”
That makes you want to cover up even more and you grit your teeth. But your thighs are shaking and you feel oh, so empty. You grab his hair with your free hand, making his eyes widen, before you shove his flushed face back to your cunt. He moans into it, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure up your spine before he sucks at you again. Ah, but it’s not where you want him this time and you push him further down to the source of your wetness. He looks up at you through his lashes as he slips his tongue into you and you cry out once more.
“So good,” you whimper at the feel of that wet appendage searching within you and Rafayel moans.
“Good?”
“Mhm,” you worry your bottom lip and twitch at the feeling of Rafayel’s tongue entering you again, moving against your walls wherever he could reach. And then his fingers ghost over your clit and you feel like you may reach your end soon.
Your cry is louder this time around as he stimulates both your clit and hole and you choke at the sound of someone pounding on the wall above the bedframe.
You and Rafayel freeze and you feel as if a bucket of ice water has been thrown over you. You forgot that not only does Rafayel sleep here, but so do all of his other members. You cover your face in embarrassment, rolling over and staying incredibly still as if it would help whoever’s on the other side forget that you’re there. You don’t even want to pause and think about who it could be. The idea of your favorite group knowing you’re there to fuck one of their members is just too humiliating.
They don’t bang on the wall again and you’re broken out of your thoughts when Rafayel grabs your ankle, pulling you back and throwing your legs over his shoulders.
“Ignore them,” he breathes, planting a kiss on your clit. He sucks you into his mouth, alternating between breathy kisses and running his tongue over you. Sighs escape your lips in waves, doing your best to not cry your pleasure louder than that. Your hands find their way into his hair without thought, unable to help yourself from touching and pulling him closer. He doesn’t seem to mind if his groans into your cunt are any indication.
“We should finish soon,” you whisper, shuddering at the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your hole.
He hums against you, making your thighs twitch. “What a shame. I’m having fun hearing you cry for me.”
He slides a finger in you and you whimper but embarrassingly spread your legs wider, encouraging him to do more.
“You need to go to bed soon,” you manage to get out over the keen that wants to rip out of you when he slides another finger inside. He releases your clit, but his gaze is transfixed over his fingers sliding in and out, growing more and more slick with every thrust. You’re on your elbows, watching the almost entranced look on his face.
“Rafayel,” you call out his name, worried he didn’t hear you. He looks up to meet your gaze, somehow surprised to hear his name coming from your lips.
“Hm?,” he asks dumbly.
“You need to go to bed soon, we need to end this.” He’s still thrusting those fingers.
“And you don’t?,” he teases, or at least he tries to. His voice is hushed, sounding almost drunk.
“I’m not the one who needs to sing and dance for hours on end tomorrow,” you manage to respond.
“Worried about me?”
It’s a silly question too. Of course you are.
You can’t help but roll your eyes, pulling the collar of his dress shirt to pull him up and maneuver him between your legs. “C’mon, I need you.”
He nearly chokes at your words and his fingers plunge deeper in you, ripping a moan out of you before you could help it.
“Ah,” he rests his head on your shoulder, “So pretty.” He thumbs at your clit with the same hand, pushing those fingers in as far as he could.
“Please,” you’re begging at this point. You need that stretch, to be pounded into the sheets and reach that climax. You grab his wrist, pulling his hand away to get him to stop teasing you. It feels like you constantly need to guide him through your pleasure.
He nearly falls on top of you when you pull his hand away from your sex when you suddenly gasp and catch him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait!”
He looks at you in question, the tent in his pants so close to meeting your messy cunt.
“Your pants! We can’t get them dirty!”
He gives you a funny look. “What?”
“Don’t you need to wear these for the concert tomorrow?”
The astonished look on his face is almost comical and he hangs his head low, his hair covering his expression following after before you feel him shaking with laughter. His laugh gets louder by the second and you feel your face getting warmer at the strange scenario.
He rises from his laughter, meeting your flustered expression with his amused one. He looks much more relaxed now compared to the beginning of this whole exchange, no longer putting on a facade.
“You’re funny, but you’re right.”
He rises on his knees, unbuckling his belt above you and you gulp at the sight, making sure to burn the vision into your memory. He removes his pants, leaving him in just his dress shirt and briefs. He crawls back over you, grabbing your left thigh to hold you open just as he settles between your legs fully. He’s slow with it, bordering on hesitant. But then he settles and you could feel the heavy weight of his cock through the fabric of his underwear and you’re reeling. You want it so bad.
He sighs at the feel of your wetness seeping through his underwear and then he stops with revelation.
“I don’t have a condom.”
You stiffen beneath him, something he doesn’t miss as he gauges your reaction. How could he not have a condom? Talk about unprepared aside from having the NDA ready.
“Uh…,” you don’t know what to say in response.
He gulps. “We could stop here if you’d like.”
His cock is straining painfully through his briefs and you could spot the small drop where he leaks through, neglected until now. You too haven’t reached your end and you’re nearly shaking with how much you’re built up. Your breathing is heavy and your arousal only heightens at the flush on Rafayel’s cheeks, unable to deny how affected he is by everything as well.
You hook a leg over his hips, pushing him further into you as you grind your hips up, feeling the length of him through his briefs. He chokes at the feeling the same time you hum in pleasure.
“We don’t have to go all the way but please,” you whimper, grinding up into his clothed cock again, “Don’t leave me hanging.”
His hands settle on your waist and you’re sure you could feel him trembling, before he grinds down into you as he tests the waters for himself. The head of his cock brushes against your clit and you swear you see stars. You let out a soft gasp and he does it again and again and again if only to hear more of those sounds. His head lands on your shoulder, panting against your skin as he ruts against you and you throw your arms over his shoulders for something to hold onto. Those hands on your waist move back to settle beneath you, helping you grind up into him and he groans into your ear. It’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.
You both forget that he could take off those briefs, that small bit of fabric separating you and preventing him from feeling the wetness and warmth radiating from your core. But he gets lost in his pleasure fast, chasing his release and urging you to cry for him as he forgets all else. He’s addicted to the sound. You’re grasping at each other with an immature amount of desperation, rutting against one another with no other thought in mind.
Suddenly your perspective is changing, Rafayel rolling off you to settle against the headboard of the bed as he maneuvers you in his lap.
“I wanna watch,” he murmurs, pulling your hips closer so that the hardness of his length settles right between the slick of your cunt. The cloth of his briefs are damp with your wetness, the texture of it sending shivers down your spine when you grind your clit into it.
He grabs your hips, helping you move against him.
“Keep going,” he pants, “It feels so good.”
You keep grinding into him, unable to stop yourself from chasing that overwhelming pleasure, and you hide your face in his neck, too far gone to be worried about touching your favorite idol. So much for him watching. You’re clinging onto him. The moans spill from your lips nonstop, your hips trying to get closer and closer to him as if he’ll somehow slip in knowing that he can’t. You feel empty, needy and wanting. The hardness of his cock beneath you feels delicious. It leaks and leaks, teased by you and you teased by it. A mixture of your arousal soaking through the piece of fabric that separates you two. He catches sometimes, the head of his cock getting caught at your entrance before it slips past when you move back down. It’s torturous. Your hands are clutching the back of his shirt and you’re sure it’ll end up wrinkled by your efforts.
And he’s just as loud. You can tell he’s embarrassed by it. He’s taken on to holding you and you can feel his lips on the skin of your shoulder where he tries to muffle the sounds, his lips parting in a whine, a keen, a moan. It only spurs you on further, the sounds of his pleasure like music to your ears. His cock twitches against you, fighting against the constraints of his briefs. Choked sounds escape him when it feels like he could slip in only to be stopped by the fabric of his underwear and the combined effort of your hips. The soaked through fabric of his underwear teases him with what could be.
But you two can only imagine.
And then there’s a knock at the door. You both ignore it at first, a silent consensus to keep going, but then they knock again.
“What are you doing in there?”
You hear someone bark on the other side. Caleb? Sylus? You don’t know but you stop moving and you shut your mouth, slumping against Rafayel in defeat.
He doesn’t share the same sentiment though, grabbing your hips to move you along the length of him still.
“I’m busy!,” he barks, ignoring them further after. His arm reaches between you two to thumb at your clit and your hips buck violently.
“Oh my god,” you press your face further into his shoulder, trying to stay quiet but struggling to do so.
“C’mon,” he pauses where he would’ve kissed your shoulder, stopping himself just before only to lean back down to lave at your nipple and sucking it into his mouth.
You gasp and hug his head against you, your hips chasing that feeling of sweet release against his cock and fingers. He pushes you against him with more force and then it’s over for you. You shake through it, holding Rafayel closer to your body as you ride that wave. He removes his arm from between you, hugging you just as hard as he groans at the feeling. You feel his hips buck beneath you and then there’s nothing but the sounds of your combined breathing in the room.
It takes a moment for you to calm down, but you release him from your hold when you come to. You take the chance to glance down, noticing the darkened black of his briefs with your orgasm and the milky white that seeps through, his own cum making a mess of him. Some of it’s gotten onto the ends of his dress shirt and you look at him with alarm.
He’s already looking at you when you make eye contact, his brows furrowed and his lips parted in a pant.
You lift his shirt away from his briefs in an attempt to help. “Shit, sorry.”
“It’s—,” he swallows, “It’s fine, that’s all me.”
You gulp, feeling awkward all over again now that the deed’s done. You’re still seated in his lap and his hands have moved to linger on your waist. You glance at the clock at his nightstand, alarmed to find it’s already reached around two in the morning. No wonder the others were getting annoyed at the noise.
“I should—,” you swing your leg over, removing yourself from his lap to seat yourself at the end of the bed. “I should go now, it’s getting late.”
“Ah,” Rafayel coughs into his hand, “Yeah.”
You stand from the bed, stumbling a little, and you grimace at the feeling of slickness between your legs.
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?,” you look back at Rafayel, who has his arm outstretched before he retreats it just as quickly, as you lean down to pick up your dress.
Rafayel hasn’t stopped looking at you with those wide eyes and flushed cheeks, looking more taken aback at what’s just happened than you are. You’re admittedly flustered as hell, though. You just came in the lap of your favorite idol. But at least you have half a mind to get out of his hair.
“Go ahead.”
You nod, making your way to the restroom to wipe yourself up and redress. You’re out and ready to leave pretty fast, picking up the bag you dropped by the door in the process, making sure you don’t leave anything behind. You feel out of it. It’s going to be so weird watching videos and looking at pictures of Rafayel from now on. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Rafayel’s changed into sweats and a tshirt by the time you’ve got your shoes back on, his hair raked back down from how it was mused, and you clutch your bag by your side.
“I’ll get going now.”
Rafayel turns around from where he’s seated at the far end of his bed. “Let me make sure Thomas is still awake.”
“Ah—okay.”
It’s tense in the room. Nothing but the sound of Rafayel’s typing.
You shuffle on your feet, not knowing if you should say anything. It all ended so abruptly.
“Was…,” Rafayel starts, breaking the silence and you give him your full attention. “Was it good?” He asks this with his back still turned towards you. He’s staring intently at his phone but you can see the red of his ear.
“I mean—I did ruin your underwear.”
Rafayel snorts. “You did.”
“I’m sorry?,” you supply. Maybe that’s what he was trying to get at?
He ignores your apology, continuing to type on his phone.
“Was it good for you?,” you throw his question back at him.
His shoulders hitch and then he nods.
“That’s good,” you readjust the bag on your shoulder, “You did a good job.”
He turns to look at you, his eyes wide.
“You can count my fantasies: fulfilled,” you explain further in an attempt to joke.
Rafayel laughs a little before looking down at the notification on his phone.
“Thomas secured a ride for you, let me see you out.” He stands, sliding some slippers onto his feet before walking you to the door.
What do you say at this point? Once you leave, you’re supposed to pretend this whole exchange never happened. You never met Rafayel. Never been to his room. Never engaged in any sort of sexual activity. You’re back to being his fan and nothing more. How strange.
Rafayel walks past you, opening the door before peeking his head out to look left and right, making sure no one’s around to see you leave. Not even his members.
“Okay, the coast is clear.” He turns around to look at you and you freeze. It’s time to say goodbye and you’re struggling to find a way to say it in the most normal way possible, as if this man didn’t just see you nude and squirming not long ago.
You shuffle on your feet. “Good luck tomorrow.”
He nods, seemingly not knowing what to say either. “Thanks.”
You hold a hand out and he gives you a funny look before slipping his hand in yours. You shake his hand once, giving him a polite smile.
“Nice meeting you, stranger.”
You pull away, giving him a short bow for good measure before you’re walking past him and out the door.
It’s one thing to rut against your favorite idol's cock the night before, but to see the effects of it on him the next day is another thing.
You’re not there. You only had tickets to see EVOL the first day but you see the posts online.
rafayel seemed tired at soundcheck today
He wasn’t as energetic as usual! I wonder if he got bad sleep.
He yawned an awful lot. I think you’re right.
i hope he’s okay for the concert tonight!
And then after. Pictures emerged of him wearing a different dress shirt than the one he wore for day one while everyone else wore the same outfits. Everyone assumed it to be some sort of wardrobe malfunction, the reason why he needed to wear a different shirt than the others but you know the truth. You wonder how he explained that to his stylists.
You’re just glad his voice still seemed to be intact. It seems no one suspects a thing.
Your cheeks burn at the memory of what happened between you two. It’s something for you to know and you only.
You shut your laptop, not wanting to see him any longer. You take a deep breath. You could get past this. Soon enough, this will all be a distant memory. Rafayel will forget you and you will really be nothing more than a fan. And maybe even you’ll forget to an extent where this will all seem like something you made up in your head. You can’t wait for the day to come because right now you want nothing more than to smother your burning cheeks into the sheets of your bed.