Day 8 · In The Course

“WHY THE FUCK NOT? YOU PROMISED!!!”

The declaration that you and Minho canceled the joint bachelor/bachelorette party you were planning was met with rowdy protests led by Jisung a.k.a Minho’s best man, turning several heads towards your direction in that restaurant.

“Well, for starters, that’s an excuse for you to indulge in debauchery, so I’m not paying for that shit,” Minho attempted an explanation, but Jisung wasn’t satisfied at all.

“Fine, I’ll pay for it!”

“It’s just too much work, man. We already have a massive dinner we’re planning for 300 people. Once is enough,” he deadpanned, already tired at the prospect of the daunting task, then turned to you with a knowing smile, “I’d much rather make honeymoon plans instead.”

“How’s honeymoon different than your regular summers anyway? You’re just gonna fuck in a fancier hotel room,” Jisung had an utterly displeased expression on his face like a judge demanding more evidence to take the case forward, “Whereas my best friend is getting married once. ONCE!”

“It’s a special subcategory of hotel sex, dumbass. You wouldn’t get it,” Minho took a sip from his champagne, “If you want a party so much, just throw one amongst yourselves.”

“What’s the point if you guys are not there, though?” Chris came to Jisung’s rescue, “The plan was to have one last wild night before sending you off to holy matrimony.” 

“Urgh, you’re so disgustingly in love it gives me a headache,” Jisung spat while dipping his fork into his cheesecake angrily, “You can’t spend one night away from each other even if someone pays you, can you?” 

“Well, depends on how much money,” you snickered, then turned to the waiter to ask for dessert.

Right at that moment, an invisible lightbulb prompted Jisung and Chris to share a look. You were making it way too easy for them.

“Fine. We’re two weeks away from your wedding,” Jisung pointed his fork at you two, “Spend the time apart from each other, then I’ll pay for your entire honeymoon. Wherever you want.”

“Why would we do that?” Minho creased his brows, almost in disgust.

“You said it’s a special subcategory of hotel sex, didn’t you? I’ll co-sponsor this. No honeymoon costs at all,” Chris shrugged and gestured at the rest of the people occupying the table, “We can set up two camps. You’ll crash with your groomsmen and Future Ms. Lee can stay with her bridesmaids.”

“That’s ridiculous!” you burst out laughing.

Chris heaved a long deep sigh, and his shoulder drooped in resignation.

“Dammit!” 

“Told you, man,” Jisung cheesed and opened his palm, “Fork it up.”

The exchange of a hundred dollar bill occurred right in front of you, and while you didn’t know the exact reason, your gut was telling you that you weren’t going to like hearing it.

“What the fuck was that for?” you nodded towards the crisp bill.

“We made a bet. Chris thinks you being joined at the hip is cute, but he believes you are mature adults about your relationship,” Jisung explained as if he was giving a lecture, “whereas I told him you’re so dysfunctionally codependent that you can’t even spend one night apart.”

“We’re not codependent!” you and Minho exclaimed in unison, and the entire table roared in laughter.

“Way to make your case, bro,” Jisung kept grinning at your antics.

You and Minho looked like you were doing a Mushu cosplay, ready to cast dishonor on Jisung’s entire lineage. You were offended as fuck for some reason. Was this what your friends considered you to be? A mutualistic life form? You and your future husband also shared a look and had a brief telepathic conversation among yourselves.

“Get off your high horse. We so can,” Minho stared his best friends down, and the two men feigned the most convincing surprise ever.

“I don’t think you understand,” Jisung’s grin got wider, “You can’t fuck each other for the duration of two weeks. If you slip even once, you’re throwing this party.”

“You’re on, motherfucker,” he leaned in towards Jisung and almost whispered as if they were about to duel Western style, “I’ll start googling the most expensive honeymoon suites in the world starting today.”

“I recommend Hawaii,” Jisung responded equally menacingly and extended his hand for a shake.

“I said you’re on, stop selling,” Minho almost crushed Jisung’s hand and sat back down, fuming out of his nose.

Yes, the cause of the bet was sheer petty pride, and everything about it was very adult-like.

You indeed divided houses and exchanged players—Minho moved into Chris’ place along with the groomsmen squad, and your bridesmaids set up camp to come live with you. You were so not codependent, and rubbing this to your friends’ faces from your honeymoon suite was going to be a fucking blast.

The first night was much more bearable than Minho expected. They spent a bros night rocking some Mortal Kombat over pizza, then went to sleep. He realized he could indeed complete this challenge without a hitch if he kept up this performance.

The second night required a bit more effort. Not that anybody needed to know about it, but that was your threshold since both your business trips never lasted more than a weekend so far. Looking back at it, it might have been the awareness that he was going to come home to you on a Sunday evening that made these forced separations endurable for him. But the third night…

Minho started losing sleep.

Tossing and turning and tossing and turning in his bed as if there was a loud clock in the room ticking away, he just couldn’t fall asleep. When the annoyance reached its sixtieth minute, he jumped from the bed, put on some sweatpants, and headed to the front door.

“Where are you going?” Chris appeared right by the kitchen and saw a Minho-shaped ghost leaving his friend’s body.

“HOLY SHIT, you scared the crap out of me!” Minho clutched his chest and took a moment to recollect himself, “I can’t sleep. I’m either gonna go insane, or fuck a wall, so I’m going for a drive.”

“Yeah nah, I don’t think so, bro,” Chris eyed Minho up and down, so not convinced of his reasoning, “I’m coming with you.”

“Be my guest. You’re buying the hot dogs, though.”

“Hot dogs?”

“Yeah, I’m going to the river.”

At this hour of the night. To get hot dogs. Chris furrowed his brows while putting his sneakers on.

“And not to meet your girl.”

“Get it to your head. You’re paying for the set where the best sex of my life is gonna take place,” Minho declared and walked outside with his hands in his pockets.

Even when they were on their way to the river, Chris waited for Minho to come up with some lame excuse to bolt, but it was a surprisingly uneventful night. Minho actually drove them to a convenience store for hot dogs, which tasted fucking delicious at that time of the hour.

“Took you only two days before sneaking out, huh?” Chris teased with an endeared smile.

“And I intend on continuing,” Minho responded with his mouth full, “Night drives help clear my mind.”

“Nervous?”

“A little,” he confessed, staring blankly at the river through the windshield, “which is weird. We’ve been together since forever.”

Chris didn’t say anything else that night. They finished their food in silence and went home, but for the rest of the week, he kept Minho company during these hot dog runs, talking about the salt and pepper of married life, what to expect during the day of the wedding, everything that could possibly go wrong, and sometimes just benign stuff to distract his mind.

On day 8, when it was time for the now-regularly scheduled hot dog programming, Minho found Chris on a couch reading in his home attire, which was nothing but basketball shorts.

“You’re not coming?”

“I think you earned some alone time,” he smiled genuinely, “Bring back hot dogs, though!”

“Extra mayo?”

“You know it.”

Minho walked to his car with unrushed steps, and started cruising on his usual route. About 200 feet straight, then turn left, and go straight until the river park area.

The second he turned that corner, he slammed on the gas pedal as if he was trying to rush to the ER while hurriedly making a phone call.

“Did he let you be?!” your voice echoed in the car.

“Fucking finally!” Minho yelled, his entire body filled with frustration to the brim, “I have like half an hour. Go to the park. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”

The matter of the fact was you and Minho had been sexting like crazy for the past week to get a hold of yourselves to absolutely no avail. Rather than satiating you, it actually made your cravings much worse. Neither of you were thinking straight, nor did you give a shit about how insane the idea was, but thus the birth of Operation Thrill Ride.

The car had barely stopped when you sneaked into it like a fucking criminal who had just robbed a bank, Minho playing the part of your gateway driver. You immediately threw yourself on his lips, inhaling each other’s scent like two fiends in severe withdrawal. 

“I fucking missed you,” Minho took a bite from your neck, then hurriedly got rid of your bottoms, “Give me my pussy back.”

You instinctively slipped your hand inside his sweatpants and took his cock out, unintentionally deepthroating him for how much you missed him. You needed him to pass through your body otherwise it just wasn’t enough.

“God, it’s fucking heaven in your mouth,” Minho threw his head back with a loud moan and put his hand on your head as you sucked him off, “My balls are so full it hurts so much. Just sit on it and milk me.”

You took his cock out of your mouth with a loud pop, straddled his thighs, and let him sink into you with guttural grunts.

“Drive,” you urged him to put the plan in motion, prompting Minho to slam on the gas pedal and take off.

His eyes were on the road as your head was buried in the crook of his neck, but he was barely able to process reality. It felt too fucking good with you riding him to death, marking wet hickeys everywhere with how hard you were sucking, and he wasn’t able to control how loud he was moaning. He didn’t realize exactly how much the pent-up frustration of the week was, and he was barely holding on.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve been suffering for the past week?” Minho spoke breathily in your ear, his idle hand groping every single inch of you that he could reach, “All this cum is going inside you. I don’t give a fuck.”

“I thought we were doing this so that our first night would be special,” you teased, accompanied by the chuckles that melted him, “Couldn’t even wait another week to fuck his girl.”

“These are the last days I can fuck my girl,” he slid your cowl neck top down your shoulder and sank his teeth into your skin, “Then I’m wifing the shit out of you.”

You both knew you were about to get hitched of course, but this was the first time Minho actually uttered the word ‘wife’ to you. It sent you reeling so hard that you started clenching around him as hard as you could just to get him to violently erupt inside you.

“Oh god, I’m gonna— I’m fucking— FUCK!!!”

The hardest fucking challenge of his life was to keep his eyes open while cumming that hard, knuckles of his left hand turning white with how hard he was clutching the steering wheel while his right was squeezing your ass. Minho was laughing like he lost his damn mind as you milked every single drop of his cum out of him. He actually didn’t have a destination in mind, but he ended up in the parking lot of the convenience store by the river out of habit, and you kept fucking yourself on him the whole way there, not giving a single damn whether he got soft inside you or not. When he finally killed the engine, he reclined his seat all the way back, and trapped your half-naked body under his frame.

Neither of you said anything. He just locked his arms around your thighs and started lapping at your creamed cunt, simultaneously smearing his cum all over your folds and licking it clean. How you had missed this… The man you were crazy in love with ravishing your pussy like his last meal, never satisfied with the quiet sounds of pleasure you made. It had to be loud and it had to be intense. Your own fingers had done a terrible job satisfying you to Minho’s nudes all week, and you’d been craving this wetness on your clit so much that it took you barely two minutes to cum in his mouth. 

But it wasn’t enough. You just couldn’t get enough of him.

You kissed Minho’s face off as you lured him under you, then you staddled his magnificent thighs again and sat on his fully hard cock. Your top was slid down all the way to your elbows, revealing your breasts in full, giving Minho a delightful show to accompany his mind-numbing ecstasy. It was turning you on even more that he still had his black t-shirt on as you were fucking his soul out of him with your fingers wrapped around his throat, and he was groaning under you, face flushed, teeth clenched, just letting his girl have her way with him.

“Say it again,” you uttered in between your panting, “What am I going to be next week?”

Minho looked at you with an alloy of lust and adoration in his eyes, totally pocketing the new kink that seemed to have awakened in you for future reference.

“My wife,” he started fucking you faster from under you, “You’ll be my wife.”

You felt his warm seed filling you up again, though in a smaller volume this time, then collapsed on his chest, strength in your legs completely gone. Minho threw one arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer, peppering kisses on the crown of your head and damp forehead.

“We talk about looking for cute honeymoon destinations and then do this shit,” you started laughing to yourself, “Some romantics we are, huh?”

“What’s not romantic about this parking lot?” Minho countered, “Dim lights, night view, we even have music in the background.”

You were both absolutely disheveled, wrapped up in each other’s bodily fluids and scents, and the entire car smelled like sex. You checked the time on the dashboard and urged Minho to get up.

“We need to be back in like 10 minutes, baby.”

“No.”

He was pouting while holding onto your arm, and it made your heart melt. You smiled and started stroking his hair.

“Throwing in the towel?”

“They can call us the codependentest couple of all time for all I care. I don’t give a shit anymore. I’ll throw their goddamn party.”

Minho hugged your chest tightly as if he was afraid to let you go and spoke from the crook of your neck, the go-to hiding place of his every time he felt too embarrassed to look you in the eyes.

“Just don’t let me sleep without you ever again.”

Exxxtraoddinary? Appreciate with a pudding.

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