“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You shout over your shoulder, crouching down to pick the quickly scattering envelopes off the floor. Does this guy have any idea how long it took to collect these? You shoot your bully a dirty look as he rushes into the crowd, camera still swinging over his shoulder.
People swarm around your feet, leaving dirty imprints on the letters as they rush past. Gritting your teeth, you slowly gather your payload, cradling paper in your arms and quickly running to the nearest bench. Take airport duty, they said. One collection for the day instead of five sounded real good about 30 minutes ago, but now? It looks like you’ll have a lot of explaining to do to Mr. Kim.
Zipping up your messenger bag, you take a few deep breaths. The glass ceiling glitters with morning sunlight, a crisscross of steel bars hanging above. Just ahead, twenty terminals lie neatly arranged from left to right, the large number five glowing as you sit and stare. You’ve always had a fascination with people-watching; with trying to figure out what strangers think and feel. It’s why you took this job in the first place, to feel that little shot of joy from seeing the elderly couple sipping coffee through faded windows, from the newlyweds hunched over their first tax sheet, from the curious dog staring as you deliver mail. It’s like watching tiny movies with every delivery, and not to mention, your boss pays pretty well, considering that you’re still a student and all.
Speaking of Mr. Kim, you quickly take a peek to see if he texted, pulling half the screen out of your pocket. The old man can’t help but worry, you’re the biggest pain in his ass after all. You slide the phone back in, watching a little boy pull along his mini-luggage. If only you could pay him back for his kindness. If only you weren’t so, you know, poor. You sigh, standing up, your dark blue mailman's cap snug on your head. There’s no use avoiding it, time to head back. The drive’s only an hour, and if you make it quick, maybe he’ll finish shouting your ear off before lunch.
But just as you make your way to the exit, the doors abruptly slide open, the sound of screams, like it’s a zombie apocalypse, announcing the biggest crowd you’ve ever seen. “Excuse me! Hey!” You shout, pushed toward the terminals by black coats shuffling backwards. You clutch your bag, trying desperately to keep the mail safe while you’re unceremoniously pushed aside. Dumbfounded, you stumble back to the bench. What’s going on? You wonder, watching passerbys stop and gawk, some dropping everything just to hastily rush into the crowd. You’re used to imagining these sorts of things happening, to pushing them out of your head and onto horribly formatted screenplays, not actually being a part of them.
“Yujin! Oh my god! It’s Yujin!” A girl screams, dragging her mother, equally confused as you, to stick her head into the growing mass of camera flashes and excited squeals. You shake your head, instinctively shooting up to do the same. Yujin? Ahn Yujin? No fucking way. Quickly, you pry the case off your phone to claw at the photocard stuck to the back. You clamber onto the bench, tiptoeing like a child to try and get a better look. Mr. Kim will have to wait, you’ve been a fan for like, years!
You remember making characters with her exact personality for creative writing, reusing her variety show lines to capture that extra bit of charm for the first few scripts that got you into film school in the first place. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you’re giddy, smiling at the prospect of maybe, just maybe, getting your photocard signed. You can already see her. She’s even more bubbly in real life. Chic, stylish, waving at the cameras with a smile, stunning the crowd in a gorgeous, all-black outfit. It’s crazy that you can hear her boots clacking just a few feet away, that if you can just throw your hand out, you might just get an autograph.
But just as you slide off the bench and start rushing towards her, you’re jolted in the opposite direction.
Someone takes your hand.
At first, you don’t even really register it, the stranger almost pulling your arm out of its socket as your right foot still steps towards the celebrity of your dreams. Your messenger bag swings, comically, while your unwilling abductor wraps their arm around yours, spinning you so that you’re face to face.
Who the hell? Heat rises through your chest, a bubbling frustration that makes you suck your cheeks in as you’re taken away from Yujin. Can’t you get a win today? Just one, please? As you open your mouth to cuss out the rude little harasser, a soft, pleading voice enters your ears. “Shh, I need your help.” Your eyes slowly focus on the person in front of you, and you stop breathing.
Jang Wonyoung, global superstar, the definitive IT-girl of Kpop, flooder of your twitter feed, is staring right at you. Her body pushes, hard, as she pulls the both of you to the nearest wall. With her back to the crowd, you look like a couple that took the chance to get a little handsy before a long flight. But to you? The scene is anything but. Your mouth lies open, palms embarrassingly clammy, heart about to barrel out of your chest like a bull seeing red for the first time.
What is she doing here? And more importantly, why did the most popular idol on the planet just pin you against an airport wall? Before you can get a word out, Wonyoung hastily pushes a finger to your lips. She quickly starts looking behind, biting her lip, eyes darting around as if she’s making sure that nobody’s staring. Back against the hard linoleum, you muster the will to pry your eyes off her face and take a good, proper look at your second favorite idol.
Dark brown hair cascades over her bare shoulders, a tight, striped tube top hugging her lithe figure. Wonyoung smells really, really good; like dandelions on a sunday morning, which is weird, since you always thought that she’d smell much more fancy, maybe more like roses. Her small hand stays wrapped around yours, skin expensively soft, a reminder that someone like you has no business having your fingers intertwined with hers. The top highlights the frantic girl’s subtle curves, with a pair of jeans wrapped around her perky ass. Before you can finish that thought, you groan out in pain, “Ow!” One leg presses you into the wall, pushed up against your crotch, while the other pushes against the floor, keeping you pinned.
Wonyoung quickly looks back, like she didn’t mean to totally knock the wind out of you. Her knee quickly relieves some pressure as her eyes finally meet yours. “Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?” You take a moment to think of what to say. With a gulp, you slowly reply, keeping your hands up against the wall, “Physically? Yeah. But you’re… I can’t even like, what?” Wonyoung raises an eyebrow, and for a moment, the fear dissolves, and she laughs. You gradually start chuckling with her, ever aware of her knee pressed up against your crotch, of the heat of her chest as she gives you a de-facto hug. You must be doing something right, if you can get that kind of reaction out of someone like her.
Wonyoung steps back, the rushing crowd slowly receding behind her, pushing after Yujin. “I can explain, if you’re not busy.” She says that last part with a worried lilt, neck tilting as the idol crosses her arms and nods at your bag. You don’t know where this is headed, and honestly, you find yourself still craning your neck to stare at the distant crowd, the bitterness of losing your chance with Yujin stinging, your photocard hastily shoved into one pocket. You look between Wonyoung, her sparkly eyes pleading, hands clasped behind her back, and the clamoring, shuffling hodgepodge of photographers and fans. Slowly, you drop your messenger bag, fumbling with your phone to put Mr. Kim on mute. You shake your head quickly, “Unless you can call having an old man shout at you all afternoon much of a plan. I’m all ears.”
Fuck it, can’t hurt to hear her out.
Before you know it, you find yourself in a very expensive seat, the smell of perfumed satin drifting about, mixed with clinking wine glasses and expensive cutlery.
You slap some jelly on a croissant, taking a huge bite, “You don’t like this stuff?” you ask, using the half-eaten piece of bread to gesture at Wonyoung. She sips some orange juice, toned legs crossed as she sits with impossibly good posture. “I’m not a big breakfast person. Just fruit keeps the skin moisturized and all.” she says quietly, eyes flitting from your plate to your mouth. It’s like she’s some super advanced robot; scanning you, looking for something that you’re not even sure is there. It’s nerveracking.
Gulping down another bite of bread, you poke at the bacon on your plate, silently avoiding her gaze. “So, Ms. Wonyoung? Can you please explain what’s going on?” You chew carefully as you look up at her. She’s been nice enough to give you this meal for free. Another day of instant noodles, and your guts might have just turned into plastic. But you’re not stupid enough to think that this doesn’t come with a price. Plus, there’s the whole matter of Yujin, and why she’s hiding around instead of, you know, facing the paparazzi with her groupmate.
Wonyoung leans back into the couch, legs still crossed, her foot tapping against the coffee table with all your food on it. She calmly replies, “Please, call me Wonyoung.” You give her a small smile back, gesturing to continue. Wonyoung purses her lips, “There’s a… competition I need your help with.” It’s as if it’s taboo, the way she says it. And immediately, your interest is piqued. You’ve never been much of the athletic, or competitive type, really. Maybe it’s an esports thing? You used to love League of Legends back in high school. You take a sip of water, your hands clasped together as you lean forward and nod, “Okay? What kind of competition? Because honestly, I was never the type to get picked first in gym class. ” She laughs, another sweet, high giggle that pierces through the breakfast buffet chatter. “Not that kind of competition! I can explain, but can you promise not to get angry? You’re a fan. I wouldn’t want you to start hating us.”
Gingerly, you put the plate down, your heart skipping a beat. “I’d never hate you guys! Promise! Watching your content gets me through like, half the day.” It’s true, inspiration is pretty hard to come by when you don’t have much of a life. In between long drives to clients, and classes awkwardly separated by half hour blocks, watching IVE, watching Wonyoung, having so much fun is a welcome blessing. She smiles, her eyes wrinkling up in a way that somehow looks way clearer than 1080p, “Thank you, I’ll, this is a bit embarrassing…” Wonyoung stops to sit up straighter, if that was even possible, resting her small hands on her knees. You wait for her to continue, a smile creeping up your lips as you take a sip of juice. She’s way too cute. Your ogling is interrupted as Wonyoung slowly extends one finger, pointing at your crotch. “I need that.”
You nearly spit orange all over her. “...What?” You croak out, taking a moment to swallow. She’s staring at you steady, her back arched, body keeping impressively still despite the rushing travellers rolling suitcases in between the tables.
“You’re serious?” You repeat. She leans forward, voice low, the soft curves of her breasts pushing against the striped tank top. “I’m serious. They just told me on the way here, and I really, really need a partner for the race.” Your ears perk up at that. Okay, there’s some sort of gimmick here. For a moment, you think that this is some prank, that these people would all turn around, and a camera would pop out from under the table. Aha! Got you! You’d be posted all over twitter as that IVE stan in minutes. But a part of you wants to see if Wonyong is talking about something real, something bigger than another twist in your already screwed up day.
Slowly, you nod at her, and she exhales in relief, as if she was waiting to see if you’d let her continue. “Have you heard of the sperm race? The one in LA.” You quickly shake your head, leaning forward and squinting at her, “Sorry, what? You’re joking.” She can’t blame you, it sounds ridiculous . Sperm race? Is that code for something? Every second, this looks more and more like a prank show. Wonyoung spots the crease in your eyebrows. She waves her hands in a frantic ‘no’, her voice wavering as she starts to stutter, “I’m not joking! It’s a real thing! People submit sperm samples, then they shoot them into a super tiny obstacle course. The winner is the sperm who… gets to the end first”
You take a bite of bacon, staring at the strips of fat on your fork while listening. It’s a lot to take in. But it’s not exactly too crazy. People are having all sorts of competitions nowadays, and you have to admit, the concept is pretty funny. But that still doesn’t answer your question. “Why me?” You ask, finally meeting Wonyoung’s gaze. The girl’s eyes narrow, and she puts her juice-filled wine glass down. “Honestly? The plan was to find the first decent looking guy I could, the kind of guy who wouldn’t…” The idol looks down, her perfect posture faltering for just a moment.
You soften your voice, reaching over the table to grab her hand. “Wouldn’t?” She flinches at the contact, but doesn’t shrug away, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you. The look is different now, unsteady, cheeks red, dark pupils pleading. You feel like you’re the first person to see her make that face. “Wouldn’t tell, wouldn’t expose me. I could tell from how you were looking at Yujin, you’re kind.”
Now it’s your turn to go red. Mr. Kim, your professors, your parents, they’ve called you a lot of things, from irresponsible, to nerdy, to useless, but never that, never kind. You squeeze her hand, which when you think about it, is insane. Who are you to have your fingers intertwined with the most famous idol in Kpop? It’s insane, but it feels weirdly right. “It is a crazy idea, but no, I wouldn’t tell.” It’s almost a whisper, but she hears it, and gives you a soft smile.
Suddenly, you’re aware of just how much you’ve leaned forward, and it looks like Wonyoung has noticed too. Her cheeks flush, before she quickly pulls her hand free. She coughs, and you quickly scoot back, taking a long sip, looking away, heart beating out of your chest. What are you doing? Get yourself together. Stop being a total weirdo!
The beautiful idol fans her face, awkwardly staring at the slab of mahogany in between you two, her mouth pressed in a thin line. She tentatively starts, “I’m sorry, I got carried away…” You quickly shake your head, “No, it’s my bad! Honestly, I don’t know why I did that either.” She cocks her head, those twinkling eyes regarding you like a scene 20 minutes into a movie she likes, but can’t put her finger on why just yet. It’s an odd feeling, to be looked at like that, or to be looked at at all, but you gulp, holding her gaze.
Wonyoung continues, a slight shrill in her voice, “For the competition, a group of other idols are participating. I don’t know who exactly, but this morning, the company let me know that I'm the only one without a partner.” You raise an eyebrow. Jang Wonyoung, unprepared? You always took her as the type to keep every aspect of her life in order, on schedule, perfect. Idols really are different behind the screen, huh. She gives you an embarrassed smile, “Yujin offered to be my distraction. So I could find someone before we fly out later.” Ah, smart. It sure distracted you. No wonder there aren’t any paparazzi scampering around this area, she’s buying her time. You look down, playing with the breadcrumbs on your plate. Hearing her out is one thing, but leaving the country? Abandoning your job, your life here, for a competition with a girl you don’t actually know? You might not be a director yet, but even you know that that premise is a bit too cliche to make for a story that ends well for you. You bite the inside of your cheek, looking up at Wonyoung, “I’m sorry, I know this competition or whatever must be pretty important, but still, I can’t just-”
You stop, eyes widening. No way.
Wonyoung quickly stands up, chair pushed back, screeching on the marble floor, and bows down.
“Please be my partner!”
You gawk at her. Jang Wonyoung has her head down at what, 60, 70 degrees? For the most popular idol on this planet, it might as well be 90. Her arms stick at her sides, the girl’s jitteriness gone, her feet set as she waits for you to respond. Servers rush by, hushed whispers exchanged between them as the nearest guests start craning their necks to look. People haven’t paid much attention to either of you so far, tucked in the corner of the buffet, but a beautiful girl bowing so fervently to a scruffy mailman is more than enough to shine the spotlight in your direction. You thought that she wanted to be subtle. This is anything but subtle.
“Wonyoung, sit, people are looking!” You hiss, grabbing her hand before she snaps it back to her side. She’s still not looking at you, instead choosing to keep her eyes locked on the floor. “Really?” You ask, exasperated. From the corner of your eye, you can see the manager feigning a smile as she hurries to your table. Wonyoung can’t possibly expect you to have an answer that fast. Already, you feel like you’ve done more in one morning than you have all year. But if you don’t do something, people will find out, and as dramatic as that would be, you’re not quite ready to see how that movie would end.
“Sorry, excuse us!” You shout, swiftly stepping around the coffee table to swoop little miss celebrity into your arms, princess style, and start running out of the restaurant. Waiters follow behind, asking if there’s anything wrong, signaling to security, but unluckily for them, you’re used to making rushed deliveries. Shooting out of the buffet, you speed to the nearest corridor, Wonyoung’s arms clutched around your neck, the stunned girl yelping with every hurried step.
“You’re awfully quiet.” You say under your breath, panting as you run through narrow hallways, taking detour after detour to make sure to avoid the main stream of tourists. Wonyoung stares up at you, lips pursed, eyes wide, but curious while she lies her head on your chest, “You’re confusing.”
"Me? Says the girl who almost got us caught?" The irritated sarcasm dripping off your dry throat, feet stopping in front of the last terminal in the row. Good, it's empty. Wonyoung gets down, cheeks red, still standing stiffly in the same spot when you plop down in the nearest seat to catch your breath. She shuffles towards you, pulling the hem of her striped top up to properly cover her chest. She can't blame you for the rocky ride; it was her idea to start a scene. "With how fast you run, you could've just left me back there. Why didn't you?"
You take a deep breath. Good question. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Maybe it would be nice to go on an adventure? Or maybe it's just my dick talking." You turn towards Wonyoung, the girl wide-eyed at that last part. "Which one do you think it is?" She bites her lip, looking between your crotch and your face, not quite sure if you're messing with her.
"I'm hoping for the second one." The top idol tentatively places her hand on your thigh, squeezing you softly, as if she's afraid you'll run away. "Please? Winning would fix... everything." You raise your eyebrows at that. There's a backstory there, you've watched enough movies to know. A part of you just wants to go to hell with it, to take the plunge into these crazy Spermlympics. She isn't Yujin, but after all these years, being with her in a way that no other fan gets to? It doesn't get any better than that.
However, that plot feels wrong, like a credit reel where for the first 10 seconds, you sit, feeling happy, satisfied, but by the time you're driving home, it’s empty, like nothing really stuck. You might not know Wonyoung that well, but from how seriously she's taking this, from how much risk she's taking on just to recruit you, you're sure of one thing; doing this would make you feel anything but empty.
“Fine, but we need to set some ground rules.” You say as firmly as you can. While it would be great to ravage Jang Wonyoung like some sort of animal, you’d really rather not get into trouble with someone of her influence. Wonyoung’s eyes light up, “Yes, rules! I’m good at those. Okay, first, no, no kissing, okay? I’ve never… I can’t.” Her cheeks color red, and you can’t help but laugh at how adorable she is. After all the training she’s gone through, that’s where she draws the line? You smile, “That works for me, personally, I’m saving my first kiss for Yujin.” Wonyoung giggles at that, raising her eyebrows as her hand tentatively rides up your thigh, fingers unsure of how fast to touch you. “Really? I’m not your favorite?” Your eyes dart around the empty terminal, breath quickening at the contact. The large space suddenly feels a lot smaller, the smell of dandelions filling your nostrils. “You’re a close second! Anyways, wouldn’t you being my favorite make this more awkward?” You stammer, a weedy little deflection.
Wonyoung leans forward, giving you that familiar head tilt, her eyes sparkling, “That leads me to rule number 2. You’re not allowed to sleep with any of the other girls, alright?” You blink at her. She continues, “There were supposed to be 10 teams competing, with each male participant switching in a round-robin to see which one of us could get the most sperm out of you.” Wonyoung says each word slowly, eyes flashing down, like just explaining the rules is already embarrassing. “That sounds pretty intense, what happened?” You ask, smiling at her, trying to get her to calm down a bit. If you’re going to be fucking, she needs to get more comfortable. Wonyoung clears her throat, “Yes it was, but Chaewon and Kkura got caught, trying out the other male participants before the tournament even started. They got disqualified. Yujin too, for trying to help cover it up.”
Ah, it’s making a bit more sense now, why Yujin was her willing smokescreen for this recruitment. You edge closer to Wonyoung, the cold metal of the seat stark against how warm her hand is on your thigh. “You’re a really good friend, aren’t you?” She stares, mouth open, as if she’s surprised that the why behind her rule doesn’t need more explaining. “You really think so?”
You give the top idol a reassuring smile, “You should see your face, I'm surprised that you don’t get that more often.” It’s true. She’s obviously uncomfortable with the whole idea of milking a guy for some stupid competition, but she’s here. You thought that Jang Wonyoung would be prim, proper, perfect. But now you can see that she’s just trying to be, and trying so hard that she’s willing to go into this risky, scandalous arrangement with someone like you. Weird, but definitely not the bad sort.
Wonyoung looks away, biting her lip, “Well thank you, but there’s one last rule I want.” You wait, leaning forward to catch her eyes. She looks at you, her warm, soft hand finally snaking onto your crotch, “You have to teach me. How to do this. I want to be good.” Your eyes widen, cock hardening as you’re pushed back onto the seat, Wonyoung’s palm pushing against the bulge in your crotch. “If we’re doing this, I want to be the best.” You’re frozen, staring at the girl, her twinkling eyes drilling into yours. She’s hunched over you now, her head cocked, lips parted while she pleads for a lesson. It’s as if it doesn’t even register in her mind that you’re out in the open, that behind all these rows of chairs, a paparazzi could easily turn the corner and find Jang Wonyoung palming a mailman’s boner.
You have to move.
Swiftly, you shoot out of the chair, Wonyoung yelping as you drag her to the nearest restroom. She’s beet red when you slam the door behind her, securing the lock before pinning her arms above her head. The previously forward young woman stares up at you, wrists limp in your hand. She’s breathing heavy, her brown locks falling gracefully around her shoulders, collarbone covered in sweat, armpits dutifully exposed to you, her new partner. You lean forward, still a bit awkward, but it’s like just having her explain all of that shot electricity straight up your spine. You can feel it in your skin, you’re buzzing. “I haven’t done this in awhile, but no kissing?” Wonyoung gasps as you don’t wait for her to answer, leaning in to lick up her exposed neck. “No kissing, but I need you to, oh!” You suck on the skin between her neck and shoulder, pressing your crotch against hers, grinding her body into the door. “Yes?” You ask, dotting wet kisses down to the top of her breasts. The dark blue fabric shakes as Wonyoung squirms, her wrists resisting a little bit. Just before you drag her tube top down with your teeth, her soft, needy voice continues, “I need you to cum in my mouth. They’ll collect it from there, in round one.”
You let go of her hands, and when you roughly pull the tube top down, she immediately wraps her arms around your neck. Wonyoung winces, ear to the side of the door as you look at her bare tits. “No bra, huh?” You laugh, giving the idol a hungry smile when she whimpers, opening one eye to look down at you. It must have taken quite the courage to say what she just said out loud. You need to show her that she’s done enough, that it’s your turn to make her feel good. Slowly, you run your tongue down the swell of her perky breasts. Wonyoung tastes amazing, and you delight in how she shivers as your tongue circles the bud of a pink, hard nipple. You don’t touch it yet, making sure to slowly kiss around the tip, feeling her breathing deepen, her skin ripe with sweat.
“More!” Wonyoung begs, pulling your mouth to one pert bud. She squeals as you lick, fast, hugging her lower back, your crotch starting to grind faster as you suck on her little tits. “Oh!” The door creaks, her head thrown back against it when you give the opposite breast a good, wet nip. For someone who’s never done this before, she’s proving to be a natural. The shaking is gone, warmth radiating through her jeans and onto your covered hard-on while you worship her breasts. You love how compliant she is, how it’s like she’s reveling in it, in the feeling of finally being able to let someone else take control.
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