Got No Time To Lose

Drunken on subways late at night are dangerous, they say, but it’s always the people up on the streets that end up starring in a morning news as victims. Kidnapped, missing, or even getting beaten up. No one to blame except themselves, unfortunately.

This morning you saw two intoxicated female that got their money and jewelry stolen—and were surprised to see so minor a crime like that to be reported—and officers interviewing something like ‘They can’t even blame the thieves at this point, when the exact same two already made two appearances at the police station for the same case.’

You agreed. People get warned every single time they go out for drinks not to end up dead on the sidewalk, don’t they?

You absolutely couldn’t understand how they end up like that. No way. Because you believed and knew even when you’re disastrously plastered you’d still be capable of dragging yourself home intact.

You see the reflection of yourself on the subway door you’re standing next to as an evidence. Well, you find it a little bit challenging to stay standing still, but it must be the driver rushing to get off work as quickly as possible. Yet you still would embrace it as generously as you would with a sober mind.

Not that you’re unforgivably drunk right now; people can barely walk when they really are. But you can easily look at your almost-sober self staring at your own hardly alcohol-soaked eyes through the same reflection a little woman behind you is gazing at.

Turning around to face her might risk you a majestic stumble that will probably make you look tanked up. You begin to feel dizzy but somehow never lose that awkwardly long eye contact with her. It’s not you. It’s her that keeps you from throwing your eyes to somewhere else. You’re on the very verge of shying away. But you hold on. She does too.

She scans you up and down as you barely hold your eyelids up to do the same on her. Next stop you’re switching the position to face the other side.

You usually don’t prefer anything flirty out of your mouth, but look at her. Just look. Talking on the phone while locking eyes with you?

Damn she must be drunk too. We can have a little more, probably another glass or two, and take each other home safely. It would be a misery to leave such a petit lady like her to be on her way home alone at a dead of night like this. Oh now she smiles at you. You smile back.

“You’re not yourself.” Then she rolls her eyes at the phone. That’s a cute voice! Wouldn’t feel so sorry if you said it matches how she looks.

“There are pickpockets everywhere at nights and if you’re drunk you won’t even remember it the next morning. But, if you say so.” She just keeps laughing on the phone, which mysteriously makes you mirror it.

The mechanical female voice informs the next stop before the train halts for another group of people to push you into the car. You’re at the other side of the car, facing the opposite door, and that girl is stuck between you and the door. She’s still on the phone, chuckling.

“You don’t sound sober though, just saying.” A series of jolts push you right onto her but you manage to avoid squeezing her figure on the door with your chest.

“Okay, okay. Do you even remember your name, Minji?” Your arms are above her head on the wall and the door each for support, while the girl in front of you is nailing it without holding anything but her phone on her ear.

Then there’s a terrifying jolt that almost makes you believe the car derailed and flipped over, which ultimately throws you onto the wall. It blows the fatigue off of your alcohol-pickled brain in a second, before you notice something’s missing and think of shouting ‘pickpocket!’.

“Is this yours? You should be a lot more careful if you want to wake up in your bed tomorrow.” What’s in the palm of hers is your wallet with the house key attached. She examines it for a second before handing it to you, who hasn’t even recovered from the brutal contact with the wall.

“Thank you, umm–”

“Where do you live by the way?” You were waiting for her name. She checks your looks while you try to shove your wallet into your pocket. It fails to get in for four times and plaps on the floor again. “What, this isn’t yours? Or is it just that you’re too messed up to recognize it?”

She giggles at you while you’re barely holding it there with your hands sliding down the metal bar because of the sweat. “I mean… It’s mine and thank you for not stealing it.” Your eyes give up and that leads to you making a silly smile. You reach for her hand with the wallet as she withdraws it to her chest.

“Well, you wouldn’t have known even if I did,” It confuses you as she parries several attempts to snatch it back. So your focus moves from her hand to her face which is still wearing a big smile.

“But you’re too cute for that, aren’t you?” You know the alcohol is doing its thing when you start spamming flirty lines at a random person. And when you feel like stepping on even further you know it’s over.

“Where do you live?” She puts your wallet in your pocket herself and looks up at you as if you just said something strange. “So you’re that drunk. Two stops before the terminus.” What does she mean that drunk?

“No, I’m not. And I live, well, I live…” Finally, you know you’re done when you don’t know where the hell you are.

“Do you even recognize the stations?” You don’t wait to unfold a paragraph of excuses for looking drunk while being not that drunk.

“Of course I do! I’m almost sober. Almost. I’m standing still in a wild subway, I can defend any robbery or kidnapping attempts for sure. But not enough to remember the last station we stopped at so… Sorry but where the hell are we…?”

Her hand is cold. You learn that by the sensation of her palm checking on your forehead and cheeks. With that face, with those soft fingers, with those big eyes looking upwards and her lower lip tucked between her teeth.

You don’t have a clue why she bit her lip while checking how hot your face is. By the contrasting temperature, you feel how warm your face has become.

You’re certain it’s because of her, not the alcohol. “You’re burning. Don’t tell me you’re sober now.” Miraculously you’re returning. It’s escalating at quite a speed, from picking up a wallet to her stroking your face. It heats the atmosphere up; it’s cooling the alcohol down.

You begin to feel that as long as you’re with her, you might want to be sober so you can remember it the morning after. And the day after. Then the whole week if not forever.

“We’re two stops away from the transfer station. So where do you live?” She doesn’t withdraw her hand off of your forehead although she has to tip-toe to maintain it.

You didn’t really need to know where you are, come to think of it. You didn’t really need her to palm your forehead, either, yet you let her.

“Three stops from now. Do you want to–”

“Yeah.”

She’s like ‘whatever it is’. You’re no different, actually. You’re not even sure whether you will be able to recall a thing when you wake up. “It’s Hanni.” At least the name, hopefully.

“That’s the cutest name I’ve ever heard.” Her hand is now down on your chest for balance. You can feel every fingertips slightly dig into the fabric of your shirt. What’s more lethal is the smile that makes her eyes crescent-shaped.

“Oh, is it? That’s sweet.” Maybe the same fingers will dig into your bare flesh tonight. Your guts tell you that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. You didn’t believe in love at first sight.

You don’t believe the minor crimes that target drunk people late at night. Not when you’re standing in front of this angel. She even warned you of it. She picked your wallet up for you. Theft? No, absolutely not. She’s no one to commit such a foul contradiction.

“I'm–” The moment you’re about to tell her your name you get a phone call. It’s your friend. You can almost smell the bitter alcohol over the phone. He’s surprised you picked up. More than five bottles of soju were shared and both went completely nuts.

“I’m almost home, don’t worry about me. No, sorry but I’m expecting a guest tonight. Yeah, it’s a girl and she’s so fucking cute!” That grit when it comes to pushing down the cute aggression.

The way you’re unaware of yourself literally announcing that you want to take her to your place less than an inch in front of her sends your consciousness off miles away.

Hanni blushes as her fingers climb up to your shoulder. You also blush furiously. What an absolute joke. Now you can feel your heart racing as you imagine what could unfold in tens of minutes.

You arrive at the transfer station. A flood of people exchange their ways, in and out. So it’s the next stop. You don’t want her to stop looking up at you like that. “Do you live near the station?”

******

“Ten minutes on foot?” Outside is rather cold. Her cold hands overlapping yours startles the nerves up your arm. So you grasp on it tightly for the warmth to be shared. It’s cold but smooth. Her fingers feel thin in between yours.

“It’s cold. Are we almost there? We got no time to lose.” What you see is a pure smile. Hanni uses her eyes every time she does, which makes it unbelievably contagious.

“You’re cold?” You push the locked hands into your pocket. “Yeah, my hands are freezing.” The pace slows down as the alley gets darker with the streetlight distancing away. Your thumb strokes on the back of her hand.

You find yourself unable to walk straight. “Me too.” Or it’s Hanni gradually pulling you to the wall. Or it’s you pushing you both to the wall side, you can’t tell.

After a few more steps, you feel her pushing you lightly on the wall. You pull the hands out and raise it to your mouth. “The other hand.”

“Is it better?” You let out hot air on her hands; it’s an old trick for couples on cold days. She bites her lower lip again before looking around. “Your breath smells like alcohol,” As if she’s making sure there’s no one watching. Like some sort of criminal.

“I think it’s sexy.” Her lips crash on yours as both of your breathing rate skyrockets as well as heartbeat. Hanni’s tongue swirls inside your mouth, successfully washing your brain clean and blank. You even forget to breathe as your tongue begins reciprocating.

Your back is still attached to the wall, the back of your head is under her control, the insides of your head has no choice either and you two are enjoying the taste of each other’s saliva and lust. “Are we… there yet?” You find it impossible to open your eyes. You can’t talk, either.

You’re just standing there, having the wall bear your whole weight, panting lightly. You feel the world tilting before Hanni grabs hold of your arm to prevent you from tripping. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely hammered.”

Fuck. What just happened?

“You kissed me.” She bursts into laughter hearing that. After looking at your face she giggles harder, then wipes the smothered saliva off with her thumb. “You were asking for it, weren’t you?” You can’t do anything but let out a silly laugh like you’re happy to just be there.

“So, where’s your place?”

******

“This is my place, it might be a little bit messy but-“ Hanni opens the door and you close. “It’s okay. We’re not here to clean your room.” She sounds like she has set her priorities clear. And for a split second you feel proud of how you sounded as if the soberness has returned.

But when she catches you ridiculously stumbling changing from your shoes into slippers, asks if you’re okay, and you answer back that you’re alright, you can only say “thank you” and wait for her to change into slippers.

As soon as she’s done, you’re pushed hard on the door with her hand on your chest.

“Was I asking for a kiss again?” Your heart can’t beat faster than this. Hanni’s chest is squished upon yours as she tiptoes to compensate for the height difference. It happens to unarm you every time. It’s a lethal combo of cute—the way she has to tip-toe to match the level of your lips—and hot—as kissing always is.

“Just making sure the door’s locked.” She bites on your lower lip and drags it downward before completely sucking whatever air that’s left in your system. It feels absurdly wild the way her tongue does all the things even when yours barely reciprocates.

You feel the fatigue wash away as you take steps towards your bedroom. “I think you’d smell good without alcohol.” You have no clue since when, but now you are covered with her perfume—rosemary with a little bit of sweetness—and the unexplainable foggy yet relaxing personal scent.

Even before you muster out ‘you too’, you’re tossed onto the bed. You sit up only to be playfully pushed back down by Hanni, who’s already undoing her shirt. Her bangs flutter with her giggle as she takes it off.

You’re left with the bra and her bare skin. “Can you…” Then suddenly she mounts on you for another minute of kiss. Her bare torso perfectly overlaps with yours as she literally devours deeper into your mouth. The sensation of her breasts getting squished is more than enough to make your cock achingly hard.

She’s slick with how she takes your top off while you’re lying flat with the ability to do nothing more than wiggle your tongue inside her mouth.

“Can I what?” Her lips are glistening almost to the chin. She licks around her own mouth while her hands unbuckles the bra to unveil her bare breasts and nipples.

“Can you leave that bun while we…” You’re almost gone, but still want to avoid saying anything dirty. Regardless, your hands are already playing with her tits lazily while hers are calmly put on her lap.

“So you’re not interested in hair pulling?” Hanni dismounts before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs which cuffs your ankles together.

You know it would be an eager declaration to say no, while being hesitant to say yes in the fear of sounding blinded by intoxicated lust. She looks extra cute with it on, anyway.

She lets a string of saliva coat you and you twitch with a low groan. Her giggles are long gone and so are yours. It’s just a wet mixture of two sets of breaths misting the air with an unexplainable craving.

It’s an addiction, maybe. You know addiction can be the most powerful drive for anything. It’s crazy how you somehow feel the need for more when you are getting the most you possibly can right now.

Headache’s going to kill you, but that’s the case if you ever survive the night.

You’re feeling how her tongue mesmerized you back when you were kissing. With just a tongue, she claims the whole control of your body, head to toe quite literally.

The back of your head bashes into the mattress, and your toes curl to clench on the consciousness that is fiercely chasing how high your sensations are reaching. Once on the back of her head, your fingers are now in between hers and forced on the bed next to your hips.

“You’re—Hanni, you’re going too fast…!” But when you feel the tip hitting the back of her throat you leak a short yelp. That’s when you actually apperceive that the night is about to be a frantic one. It’s like she doesn’t want to just fuck; she wants to fuck you.

The pace upshifts and you’re barely digesting the coarse head she’s giving. The rhythm isn’t stable, so isn’t your heartbeat, and so isn’t your sanity. Hands held down, ankles locked together and your perception cut down to merely receiving how close you are to climaxing, you give up on holding anything back.

What you lastly see is her face and her carved out shoulder. Slightly tanned, lean, sexy, or whatever. You’re unleashing your load into her mouth and that’s more intuitively prioritized. Her tongue never rests with only the tip sealed with the lips, and her hands are never left idle as they stroke yours to milk everything as if she’s not going to actually fuck.

“That’s a lot, like, you didn’t even warn me.” Then she opens her mouth for you to see the inside clean. You’re still hard and messy, just as fuzzy as your brains are. “We could’ve sixty-nined, my bad.” The next breath you inhale becomes your last as Hanni sits on your face with her legs spread.

You get to learn how wet she got with your whole face by how the wetness is smothered all over your face the moment she settles her position on you. And when she starts to ride your face with that moan you forget to breathe. Your tongue works on whatever is being rubbed on it, and you know you’re killing it due to the upheaval of her moans.

Hanni guides your hands to her tits and roughly pushes on them, before resting her hands on your ribs like she is genuinely against the thought of you breathing. “I won’t warn you either.” You begin licking not because you want to please her, but because you want more of her. The tantalizing amount of her juice provokes you to suckle on it wilder, making her arch her back and put more of her weight on your torso.

It all runs down on your cheeks, neck, ears, and to the bedsheet to soak it. The more desperately you gasp for air, the more slurpy it sounds. It definitely doesn’t help you with the dizziness, and your cock is still rock-hard and throbbing; your sensations can’t be focused as you feel like your whole body is getting hypersensitive. Like a blow of a wind and you’ll be gone.

“Does it taste good?” You can hear her grit her teeth, and her fingers are already grabbing a handful of your hair, while the other hand is digging into your ribcage. And when she finally provides you with a bucket of her juice, you gratefully gulp down. Dizziness, breathlessness are stifled by how blissful it tastes, and with the flavor of her bare skin it’s sheerly benumbing.

It’s undoubtedly stronger than any alcohol you’ve ever tried. “Let me also try some.” The next moment Hanni is licking all over where her cum has left its traces and her tummy is being rubbed on your cock. “It’s going to fill me up so, so deep,” Then she spreads her spit on it again.

It’s as if you’ve forgotten to even speak. “I want to fuck you so bad.” You’re shocked that that’s the best you could squeeze out. No wonder you made her chuckle which almost feels like she’s laughing at how gone you are. Yet she doesn’t know she can send you even further in a matter of minutes.

“Oh, fuck!” It almost startles you the way you slide in to the very brim at once. “Shit, this is too much, Hanni…” You’re losing your breath at how rabidly her insides contract. And as she begins moving you put your hands on the side of her hips for her to slow down a bit without realizing it.

“No, it’s not.” Again, your hands are pinned down on the bed, this time above your head. Hanni breathes her words right into your mouth before plunging up and down on you at a bewitchingly insane pace. No one moans; all you hear is a scream, not subtle moans. You can’t do anything but feel the threshold getting closer and closer at a breakneck speed.

If you last more than a minute it’s a fucking miracle. Hanni is looking into you but you have no capacity to care about visual senses. Hands fixed, ankles still tied by your own pants, plus you don’t have any strength left to even move—you’re drunk, already came and almost suffocated to death. In no time you cum for the second time of the night.

“Oh, you came?” Yet she sounds as if she’s earned a new motivation to keep on. She doesn’t spare any time for your cock to soften up as you keep pumping your seed in her walls with a series of painful groans. “It hasn’t even been five minutes,” Her breaths are also becoming thin.

It hasn’t. It feels so good, the overstimulation, but it somehow begins to come to you as rather dangerous. “Hanni,” Gasping, you call her name. She doesn’t respond. She just keeps looking into you while indulging herself.

“You still smell like alcohol.” You shouldn’t. You don’t really believe it, because to think of all the cum she splattered right on your face you can’t. “You know how to erase it.” You murmur. Then Hanni dives in for another lip lock with a smirk.

Her tongue is twirling. Yours is, too. You also feel your stomach swirl. Then you feel how agitated your whole nervous system is. Your head spins as she screams into your throat. To feel someone else’s voice reverberate through your throat and skull is what floods you with tabloid stimulus.

“Oh my god, it’s so good…!” All of a sudden her walls start convulsing outrageously, and you’re not even able to resist cumming again. Hanni cums too, and she cums hard. So hard she milks another load just by her walls pulsating from the aftermath of orgasming.

******

“Are you okay?” You’re panting but she’s not. You’re exhausted to the point where you’re thankful for her feeling satisfied after cumming only two times. Is this what drinking does to people? “I’m good, you?” You ask, completely spent, almost sounding like a sigh.

“I’m still up for a couple more… But I don’t want to kill anyone.” It brings a weak chuckle out of your open lips. Ugh, the fatigue. You’re not sure if you’ll even be remembering tonight when you wake up.

“Can I have your number, by the way?” You roll to your side to face and cuddle her. It’s still a mystery that this cute-looking girl actually rode you like a freak. “In case I forget this tomorrow morning. I like you, really.” You can’t explain but she has a rather sad smile on for a moment. That of some kind of regret and guilt.

“Sure, do you have anything to write on?”

******

Headache, thirst, and nausea hits you at once at a catastrophic level. You feel deaded. Hangovers are always infernal. Standing up out of bed you almost hit the doorframe. It’s more like you’re dragging your own body, rather than walking.

On the table in the kitchen you see a cup of water and a small piece of paper beside it, which helps you recall everything—almost everything—that happened last night.

So, her number should be written on that paper, but the thing is, you don’t see your phone. You remember putting it right beside your wallet. Oh, the wallet’s missing, too. But, as you know, a lot of things happened last night, and you’re not even fully woken up.

So you get the folded paper and open it, which reads–

“You only know my name, don’t you?”

Oh.

******