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Megan has two moles on her neck.
It’s not the first time Yoonchae has noticed this, of course. They are in plain view most of the time. Besides, they've all seen each other with and without make-up and in various states of undress, so of course Yoonchae knows that Megan has two moles on her neck, just like she knows about the smaller one between her collarbones, and even a few hidden underneath the fabric of her clothes. It's completely normal knowledge to have.
Yoonchae doesn’t usually stare at them. But today is different. Because today Megan is wearing a fashion accessory around her neck. So Yoonchae’s gaze is inevitably drawn towards that specific area of her body. Her neck. Her moles. Then back to that thing which kind of reminds Yoonchae of a...dog collar.
Megan has been wearing it all day—since their photoshoot this morning—and for some reason Yoonchae can’t stop staring. For some reason the sight of Megan with that thing around her neck makes Yoonchae feel a little…agitated. Or maybe that’s not exactly the right word. But she is not sure how else to describe what she’s feeling right now.
Megan is sitting cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her Spotify playlists to pick a song for Yoonchae to use in her Instagram post, and Yoonchae is sitting on the edge of her bed, staring and staring and feeling like she is on the brink of something. She just can’t really figure out what, and it’s a little frustrating. So maybe 'agitated' is the right word—in a way.
She is just about to go back to watching a mukbang video on TikTok when Megan catches her staring. It happens too fast for Yoonchae to pretend she wasn't. So she holds Megan’s gaze. Steady. Until Megan bursts into laughter. “What?”
Yoonchae blinks. Once. Twice. She clears her throat, painfully aware of how fast her heart is beating and the edge of panic in her voice. “Nothing.”
She looks down at her phone, pretending to busy herself with scrolling but, of course, Megan isn’t letting her off the hook so easily.
“Nothing? Then why do you keep staring at me?” She asks, point-blank and full of amusement, and Yoonchae makes the mistake of glancing at her again. Megan fixes her with a raised eyebrow. Teasing. “See something you like?”
That question aims to provoke. Yoonchae knows that. Megan’s smug smile spells trouble. So Yoonchae rolls her eyes dismissively even though the corners of her mouth are curving up. “You're delusional.”
She is trying to be serious, to maintain her composure, but it’s hard when Megan is looking at her like that, like Yoonchae is doing something very funny even though she’s just sitting there.
“Right.” Megan chuckles, shaking her head. “If you say so.”
Silence stretches between them again, a long pause, until Yoonchae blurts out: "Your collar."
It surprises even her, the words spilling from her mouth. She regrets them immediately. She can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. It’s probably obvious that she’s blushing but she really hopes it's not.
She clears her throat and decides to clarify what she meant. “You didn’t take off your collar.”
Megan blinks, visibly confused. “My what?”
Yoonchae can practically see the wheels turning inside her head, she can pinpoint the exact moment when it finally clicks, and Megan realizes what Yoonchae is talking about.
“Oh...” Megan lets out an awkward laugh. “Collars are for dogs, you know? This is a choker," she says, touching the accessory around her neck. She begins to fiddle with it, almost absently, almost like she's wondering if she should take it off or not. There’s a smile on her face but it’s the kind of smile she only gives when she's nervous, or embarrassed. “Does it look weird or something?”
“No,” Yoonchae says, maybe too quickly. She licks her lips, glancing away. “It’s cute. I like it.”
Another big mistake. To admit that out loud. Yoonchae knows that as soon as Megan’s smile stretches into a mischievous grin. She knows she is about to suffer the consequences of giving Megan too much attention.
“You like it, huh?” She asks in that really exaggerated sweet tone that she always uses whenever she’s in the mood to tease Yoonchae, get on her nerves. There’s a playful glint in her eyes as she abandons her phone on the floor and slowly crawls towards the bed on all fours. Her hands come to rest on Yoonchae’s knees, warm even through the fabric of her baggy jeans. The touch is barely there, all too gentle, so maybe that's not what sends a shiver up Yoonchae's spine. Maybe it's just the sight of Megan like this: on her knees, looking up at Yoonchae as she spreads Yoonchae’s legs apart and settles down in the space between them on the floor. It's...It's a lot to take in.
But then Megan barks, and Yoonchae realizes how ridiculous this is. This whole thing. But it's kind of endearing at the same time. Typical Megan.
“You’re so weird,” Yoonchae says, but she's smiling. She can’t help the tiny chuckle that escapes her lips when Megan barks again.
Despite her better judgment, Yoonchae decides to play along. If only for a little while. Her hand comes up to stroke Megan’s hair, gently petting her head. She lets her fingers toy with the pink strands. Yoonchae likes that color. She likes how it looks on Megan, too.
She spends a moment like that, stroking Megan's hair in the evening light that filters soft and pale yellow through the closed curtains. Megan's eyes look a little dazed, like she just woke up. Yoonchae kind of loves that.
“This is nice,” Megan tells her quietly, like she's sharing a secret, all slow consonants and lazy vowels. If she had a tail, Yoonchae thinks she would be wagging it right now, basking in attention and affection. She really is like a puppy. Always so eager, so clingy, so needy. Yoonchae is more of a cat person, really, but then again, who doesn't like a well-behaved puppy?
Her gaze drops to Megan’s neck again, almost involuntarily, to where that choker sits. Except this time, Yoonchae allows her intrusive thoughts to dictate her next move. She doesn’t think twice about it before she starts tracing the shape of it with her finger, feeling the texture of the material—faux leather—against her skin. For a moment, everything is centered around that feather-light touch.
“It’s always tease, tease, tease, you’re happy when I’m on my knees.” Megan hums a tune. “You know that song?”
Yoonchae shakes her head absently. No. She does not know that song. Or maybe she does. Maybe she’s heard it before. But she can’t really focus on that right now.
“It’s like: should I stay or should I go? Baby you gotta let me know, should I stay or should I go now?”
“Stay,” Yoonchae says, hooking a finger around Megan's collar. The leather is thicker than she expected, snugger, it takes effort to squeeze her finger underneath it.
Stay. As in stop talking.
Stay. As in behave. Obey. And Megan does. She shuts her mouth. And Yoonchae is indulging in how her breath gets caught in her throat. How her jawline tightens. Her eyes are trained on Yoonchae's face. Intent. Her cheeks are a little red. Or maybe Yoonchae is just seeing things. Maybe she's only imagining the way Megan's eyes are beginning to glaze over as she looks up at Yoonchae. "Are you gonna tell me I'm a good girl, or what...?"
It sounds like she’s teasing. But it sounds like she’s begging too. Or maybe that’s just what Yoonchae wants to hear right now.
Her heart is hammering out a messy beat. A strange sensation overwhelms her. Something she can’t even begin to name. A feeling in the pit of her stomach, a rush of want surging through her, and she isn’t sure what she wants exactly, just that she wants. It's always like this with Megan, always so much, always a tangled mess of thoughts and emotions and blurry lines.
"I don't know," Yoonchae says, voice low, barely a whisper, "Are you?" She gives the collar a tug. "Are you a good unnie?"
Megan nods. Twice. And Yoonchae can actually feel her gulp. How she struggles to swallow, beneath the choker and the back of Yoonchae's finger, pressed against her throat.
The satisfaction she gets from that reaction is borderline addicting. It feels like she could do anything—whatever she wanted—and Megan would let her. It’s a dangerous thought. It sparks something within her. An impulse that sinks its claws into her and switches off her sanity.
The next thing she knows, her fingers loosen their grip on the collar and she brings her hand up to cup Megan's jaw, tracing the pout of her lower lip with her thumb. Until Megan opens her mouth and lets Yoonchae's thumb slip inside. She wraps her lips around it—and sucks.
Her stomach swoops. Like the feeling she gets at the top of a roller-coaster: a tinge of fear mixed with jittery anticipation. Or the other way around.
Then she feels Megan's tongue circle around her thumb and it jolts her like an electric shock.
She pulls her hand away. But Megan doesn't give her time to regain her composure before she pounces on the bed, straddling Yoonchae’s lap. She throws her arms over Yoonchae’s shoulders, nuzzling her neck.
"You're heavy," Yoonchae says, huffing. Even though Megan is not heavy. She's not heavy at all. But the sudden closeness of their bodies is making her heart beat so fast. It's bordering on too much, all at once.
She tries to wiggle out of Megan's grasp but Megan doesn't let go. She doesn't really do anything except hold still. Breathing heavily in the crook of Yoonchae's neck. And Yoonchae doesn't realize why until she tries to move her thigh. Oh. It's between Megan's legs. Providing friction.
Megan pulls back to look at Yoonchae with lidded eyes, unsure. Her hands are shaking on Yoonchae's shoulders. She doesn't say it. She doesn't say "please". But the word is buried, hidden in her throat like a wish down a well. Yoonchae can tell. She can see it in Megan's eyes. Please.
It’s obvious what she wants. The way she’s squirming impatiently in Yoonchae's lap can’t really be interpreted as any other kind of discomfort.
"You can move," Yoonchae whispers, hands firmly on Megan’s hips now; the press of her fingers more a suggestion than a demand. “You can move. If you want.”
It's enough, it seems, because Megan begins to move. Her hips begin to roll. A slow, draggy pace. She buries her face in the crook of Yoonchae’s neck again, like she’s embarrassed. Like she’s desperate to bury the sounds that escape her mouth, those helpless little whimpers, as she grinds against Yoonchae’s thigh, again and again and again. Her body rolls in pulsing waves, an unhurried rhythm, like she’s trying to make it last, trying to commit the feeling to memory.
Yoonchae can feel Megan’s breath stutter on her skin, fanning heavily across her neck. She likes the way Megan trembles a little, like that. It makes Yoonchae feel in control. She grabs onto Megan's hips more firmly, encouraging her movements, urging her on as the rhythm grows more erratic.
“It feels good,” Megan pants, barely able to get the words out. She sounds all airy, all disheveled. “It feels good. It feels really fucking good, Yoonchae.”
"Good," Yoonchae repeats experimentally. “Good unnie. Keep moving.”
She feels slightly dizzy. Drunk off the power she holds over Megan in this moment. All rationality has faded into a mantra of feels good, feels good, feels good.
She slips her hands underneath Megan’s shirt, reverent as they sweep up her back, tracing the ridges of her spine. She’s never touched anyone like this and she doesn’t know where the confidence comes from, all she knows is that she wants to swallow every little sound Megan makes. She sinks completely into that frenzied feeling, hurried and imprecise. Like a tornado. A natural disaster that flattens everything in its path; an all-consuming cataclysm that she can't avoid.
Then she feels Megan’s entire body clench up, rigid. She feels her shuddering, feels her heave for breath, feels her moan, the sound of it vibrating through Yoonchae’s chest.
She sinks back against the mattress as Megan collapses on top of her, boneless. Their chests heaving with exertion.
“Fuck," Megan pants, and then laughs. "I can’t believe we just did that.“
That makes two of us.
It's quiet after that.
Megan keeps her head tucked into Yoonchae’s hair, breathing heavily against Yoonchae’s neck. That’s the only sound Yoonchae hears for a while. She doesn’t know what to say or if she should say something. She's not entirely sure she’d be able to come up with the right words. Or any words at all.
“I guess I should, uh, I should go change.” Megan pushes herself upright, straddling Yoonchae's legs, and smirking down at her. “You made me so wet.”
“Ew. Don’t say that.”
She feels Megan shake with laughter against her. “Oh that’s where we draw the line? After I just humped your leg? After you told me to hump your leg?”
Yoonchae tenses defensively. “I did not—”
“Uh, yeah, you did. Also..." Megan bites her lip suggestively. She splays a palm over Yoonchae's stomach, right where her tank top has ridden up. The hand drags lower, to the unbuttoned opening of Yoonchae's jeans. Her fingers trace the waistband of Yoonchae's underwear. "Can I just say…This boxers-on-display thing you’ve got going on lately is really doing it for me.”
Yoonchae groans, blushing. She throws an arm over her eyes to block the view. It’s too much. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Nope.” Megan shifts on top of her and Yoonchae moves her arm from her eyes when she feels Megan's breath fanning across her mouth. “If you want me to shut up, you have to make me.”
So Yoonchae does.