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(break me out of myself)

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A day.

A week. 

No message, no call.

His phone’s been on silent since he walked out of contract negotiations just so he’d have the satisfaction of checking it whenever he wanted to, not at the beck and call of a ringtone like a dog that’s been bell-trained, and the glee of manually opening and deleting every text that pissed him off. After that day, it was usually their ex-manager. He contemplated outright blocking him once their ties were officially cut, but there was something deeply satisfying about making sure his read receipts were on before deleting the texts anyway.

It does mean that he has to check his phone manually for everything else, though. Seonghwa’s already given him shit about it, but now that they were all in Seoul and no one was worried about anyone careening off the face of the earth anymore, the nagging’s become more just Seonghwa spamming the group chat at ten in the morning, like he’s hoping he can make San’s phone heat up enough to burn through his pillow and wake him up that way. San hasn’t told him yet that his phone’s not even on vibrate, because he likes catching up on their messages like the morning paper.

But there’s nothing else. It’s absurd how quickly he falls back into old habits, checking his phone compulsively for a familiar number to pop up in the header—the way he used to once, during that irrational time he thought Wooyoung would still know how to find him without a phone number.

It’s worse now. It’s worse because he knows that Wooyoung has it and more, technically everything he needs to find him if he wants. It’s just...a matter of Wooyoung wanting to.

It takes him two days after Wooyoung walked out of his hotel room to turn his ringer back on—four to start compulsively tapping the new message button, five to make it to the last character of Wooyoung’s name in the contact header, and the end of that fifth day to make it halfway through a message too, then erase it all before he can do something stupid like actually send it.

God, why can’t he just do this right? Why can’t he just say what he wants to? It doesn’t even have to be right; he just wants to do something that’s going to feel like it’s enough, that would maybe finally let him breathe and maybe finally get rid of these dreams of Wooyoung, standing in the moonlight, asking him to stay, please stay like a fucking ghost of someone still alive.

does the radio silence mean it went really well or really went to shit? Yeosang asks.

San stares at the message for a minute, soaked from where he left mid-shower to pick up his phone. Then he scoffs. i knew it was weird that he somehow found where i was staying

After his shower, there’s another message.

ya. probably found it after a twitter search and a few pictures of you flipping off the pap

im getting a new best friend. bye

lmao have you even left your room to “get” anything at all

Apparently he’s too slow to deflect, because Yeosang tacks on, i was joking, but have you actually seen the sun recently. go outside before you forget that you’re not a vampire

Drawing in a quiet breath, San exits the message thread and opens the other one he’s left empty for the last few days.

hey. would you want to, he begins, and he stops, because if he invites him over at six in the evening then does that sound like he just wants to fuck?

Not that it would be out of the question, but—

He rubs two knuckles into his eyes hard.

God, how did they make this work before?

He picks his phone back up again. Do you want to get lunch tomorrow? sounds like a completely normal thing to ask someone, right? See, he even remembers not to make it breakfast instead, and if he phrases it like this then it’s a simple yes or no, no implications of him wanting anything else or Wooyoung being obligated to do anything else. He definitely knows he’s not in place to ask for anything else.

He’s finally about to rewrite the question when the typing symbol pops up, but from Wooyoung’s side of the thread.

What the fuck?

It’s too late by now though—his thumb comes down on the first character, and he knows Wooyoung must have seen it because a moment later, the typing symbol disappears.

Oh, fuck. “Oh, goddammit,” he breathes when he realizes too late that Wooyoung would see his typing symbol go away too, and then he’s punching in more nonsense characters just to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t see him stop too, because how would that look? How long has Wooyoung even had this thread open? Christ, did he see San typing earlier too?

His phone screen’s half-filled with gibberish when Wooyoung’s typing symbol pops up again. What the hell? San’s not done. His nails click harshly against the screen as he highlights everything and types as quickly as he can, do you want to get dinner tomorrow?


Wait, wait, fuck, no, it was supposed to be lunch, fuck—

There might be a hysteric sound taking shape in the back of his throat, only kept back by the irrational fear that Wooyoung would hear him somehow. He sees Wooyoung stop typing again, then start, then stop, and San thinks that this is what it’s like to be a door slowly being worked off of its hinges, until finally he thinks, fuck it, and starts typing again.

i didnt mean that in a weird way, he says at the same time Wooyoung says, actually are you hungry rn?


oh, Wooyoung says. A moment later: in what way would that have been weird tho

dunno, San says, even though he suspects Wooyoung knows exactly what way he’s talking about. dinner can be weird. just wanted to make sure u knew it would be normal with normal food

Who the fuck is he anymore? It’s like he doesn’t remember how to talk.

How to talk to Wooyoung, some part of him whispers.

Yeah, yeah, fuck off.

okay, Wooyoung says. well i made normal food, theres just too much of it because my roommates ditched me for a concert, so do you want to have a normal dinner now or do you want to have a normal dinner tomorrow specifically

both? San offers. what are u making

The typing symbol dances on the screen for a solid minute.

tough question? San says.

shut up, Wooyoung replies almost instantaneously. come find out


- ♮ -


It seems like a good idea until it doesn’t—all throughout the time it takes to throw on a dark, ratty denim jacket over sweats and tug on a face mask, to make a quiet exit through the smaller side entrance of the hotel, to drive the car that no one except him knows he owns to the address Hongjoong had given him weeks ago, up until he’s standing in front of Wooyoung’s door and thinking that maybe this is a really stupid idea, that maybe all of it, coming back to Seoul and coming back to find Wooyoung, was one incredibly idiotic idea. It’s definitely not the first time he’s thought it, and it seems more and more convincing every single time, but then—

But then Wooyoung opens the door, and he’s there. He’s there.

He’s there and he’s real and he’s fucking— He’s wearing an offensively green shirt hanging too big over blue plaid pajama pants, dark hair a little mussed like he’s been rifling his hands through it all night, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip that way San knows he does when he’s thinking of something that he really wants to think out loud, and San wants to kiss him as viscerally as he wanted to five days ago, five months ago, five years ago.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Wooyoung says.

He takes his lip ring between his teeth, nibbling at it absently. Wooyoung hasn’t moved yet. “So are we eating whatever you made out here, or?”

He watches Wooyoung’s gaze flick downwards for a second before meeting his again, and for a moment, it occurs to him that he might not be the only one feeling so— about it. 

Then Wooyoung finally steps back, opening the door for him. “I was just testing if you were a vampire,” he says.

“Not a vampire,” San allows, his mouth twitching, and he steps inside to prove it.

He’s seen flashes of the apartment from the few times he’d come by with Hongjoong, and that first night Jongho opened the door instead, but it’s nothing compared to seeing it in person. It’s lived-in. There’s a small kitchen to the right with green tile and hanging lights, the counters full with a coffee machine and a spice rack and a pile of mail. A few more papers hang over the fridge by alphabet magnets, and there’s a coffee maker and a blender fighting for space on the counter next to it. There’s a frying pan in the drying rack by the sink.

The dining table has four wooden chairs, with two plastic chairs that look like they’ve been haphazardly pulled up, maybe from a time the others were here—that’s that obscure cereal brand that Yunho loves so much sitting on top of the fridge, after all—and it makes his gut twist with something he can’t put a name to.

The living room is barely bigger than the kitchen, most of the space taken up by a worn maroon couch and a mismatched brown leather armchair. A low coffee table. A TV set, the shelves hopelessly tangled with controller wires. Two racks of DVDs and CDs on the wall, a dark, wooden bookcase with the second shelf starting to tilt, filled to the brim with books and albums.

Potted plants, a little wilted. A statuette of a lion on the topmost shelf. A picture of what looks like Jongho at graduation. Another picture, this one in a considerably more ornate frame, of what looks like Wooyoung covered in cake, Mingi flashing him bunny ears from right next to him.

“I know it’s a mess,” Wooyoung mutters.

San forces himself to look away from the shelf, realizing that he’d been staring. “It’s not,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off, and he’s being honest. “It’s better than my place.”

“You don’t have to be polite about it,” says Wooyoung. “Sorry it’s not like what you used to come over to.”

San mulls over that. Does Wooyoung think he only ever came over for his fancy floors? “We don’t have to whisper because your parents might overhear us, do we?”

Wooyoung frowns, looking puzzled, and shakes his head.

“Then it’s already better than your place ever was too.” San shrugs. “You wanna show me what you made now?”

“So you’re still a horrible houseguest,” he hears Wooyoung huff as he turns to the kitchen, and San smiles to himself and follows him there.

It’s nothing like what he’s used to seeing from Wooyoung, yeah, but all of this is better, better than where San had hoped Wooyoung would be. The way Wooyoung is walking around barefoot, either unaware or not caring that there’s a part of his shirt caught in the waistband of his pajamas pants, and the way the worn material of his shirt gets bunched up when he puts his hand on his hip to peer at something on the stovetop—it fills San with a strange relief to see, like good, like I’m happy you look happy, like you made it out too.

“Where do you keep your plates?” he says, draping his jacket over the back of a chair.

“Oh, no,” Wooyoung says without turning around. “I remember when you set something on fire just getting chopsticks out. Sit and I’ll bring you a plate.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that wasn’t my fault? That’s just what happens when wooden chopsticks are near a fire.”

“Yeah, and it happens a lot easier when they’re dipped straight into the fire, you pyromaniac.” Wooyoung turns around with what looks like a plate of gochujang noodles, even though he’s carrying a pair of forks, and he pauses and squints at San. “What? What’s that look for?”

“I missed you,” San says.

Wooyoung sets the plate down in front of him, then another in front of the empty seat adjacent to him, and finally he lingers with his hands on the back of the chair. San watches his jaw work. “You don’t have to say things like that. I already invited you here.”

He frowns. “Would I only say it to get you to invite me here?”

“I don’t know.” Now Wooyoung’s frowning too, like the question makes him unhappy but he’s not sure why he asked that too. “I just— I didn’t mean this in a weird way either. It’s just food. I wasn’t looking for anything from you.”

“I know, Wooyoung,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t telling you because I was looking for anything either, okay? I meant what I said, that I’m not ready for... anything more, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you or that I can’t miss you.”

“I know. Yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply any of that, it’s just...” Wooyoung exhales, before pulling out the chair and finally taking a seat. San watches him pick up his fork and say, all without looking at him, “It’s been a long week and I’ve been overthinking. Ignore me.”

“I was overthinking it too,” San says, because it’s all he can think to say. He wishes he was better at this. “I didn’t think it was weird, okay? And even if it was, we both knew it wouldn’t go back to normal after just a couple of days, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yep, we said that, and that was so responsible of us. Sometimes my brain just tries to eat itself, I think.” Wooyoung sighs and makes a face at his food. It’s one of those things he does that makes San want to— 

He picks up his fork too, squeezes it between his fingers tight as an outlet. “I happen to like your brain,” he says, “so don’t let it commit cannibalism yet.”

Wooyoung shudders. “Ew, let’s not talk about that when we’re eating.”

“Baby, you brought it up first.”

He practically sees the moment Wooyoung short circuits, and it would be endearing if he isn’t suddenly terrified that he went too far, but Wooyoung seems to recover, just with a faint pink stain to his cheeks. “Okay, let’s just eat then,” he mumbles.

“Eat,” San agrees, exhaling quietly in relief. “And tell me what I’m eating because this doesn’t smell familiar.” He kicks his foot under the table, reassured when Wooyoung kicks his shin back. “But if you really do want me to leave, it’s okay, just s—”

“No, you’re going to stay.” For a second, he thinks Wooyoung’s going to threaten to kill him for saying that again, but Wooyoung just sighs and his shoulders slump, and now he’s got awful posture, both elbows on the table and his chin nearly touching his plate as he watches his fork swirl around and around the noodles. “It’s spaghetti.”

“I thought you promised me normal food,” San observes, poking at it.

“Didn’t your tour have a leg in the US last year? You didn’t have any of this back there?”

“You kept up with the tour?”

Wooyoung looks up, faintly resembling a deer caught in headlights. God, he really makes San want to— 

He shoves a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, watching Wooyoung seeming to struggle with something.

“You know that Mingi’s, like, your number one fan, right?” Wooyoung finally says as he starts to eat too. “He never shuts up about your band. I feel like I’ve absorbed your astrology chart through osmosis.”

“Hongjoong-hyung said you didn’t even recognize Yunho or Yeosang, though.”

“Well, I said I knew your astrology chart, not what you looked like after five years.”

“Mm. If you say so.” The spaghetti, actually, doesn’t taste terrible. He didn’t know Wooyoung could cook. He wonders if it’s always been there or if it’s one of the things he’s missed out on, and then he’s wondering if Wooyoung ever wonders the same things about him too, and how much of an asshole it makes him to hope that he does. “The purple’s new, though,” he offers, waving his hand vaguely. “I went pink to piss off my ex-manager, but pink was gonna make it pretty hard to blend in if I was gonna come back here, so I tried to tone it down.”

“So was that something you planned out for a while, then?” Wooyoung says. “Dyeing your hair purple so you can come back here?”

There’s a “no” on the tip of San’s tongue straightaway, but he hesitates. No more running away, Wooyoung had said that morning. They hadn’t said no more lying, but maybe this is a way of standing his ground too, and he doesn’t want to just not lie, he wants to start telling the truth. “Not really,” he says then. He hesitates, and then he continues, “I was drunk and I wanted to come home, so I bought a plane ticket. Then I was sober again and I still wanted to come home, so I went and boarded the flight.”

Wooyoung glances at him. “I think that’s the only time I’ve ever heard you call Seoul ‘home,’” he muses.

It isn’t about Seoul, but San doesn’t know how to say that. “And what about you, Wooyoung-ssi? Anything you’ve been planning for a while?”

“Don’t ‘Wooyoung-ssi’ me when I’ve had your dick up my ass.”

Startled, San ends up coughing around a mouthful of pasta, and Wooyoung is immediately there clapping his back with a concerned, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yep,” San gets out through watery eyes, and Wooyoung says, “You shit, you’re laughing when I thought I was gonna have to do the Heimlich on you.”

“Sorry, Youngie,” San says, which somehow flusters Wooyoung more than admitting to having his dick up his ass, and there it is again, that urge to fold Wooyoung into his arms and keep him there for as long as he can. “Just can’t get over it. You’re so different now, but you’re also somehow the same.”

“I’m the same I’ve always been,” Wooyoung grumbles. “I’m just around different people now.” 

San smiles a little. “Yeah, I know what you mean. And I’m happy about that.”

Maybe he says it wrong, because Wooyoung bites his pretty lip and sneaks him a suspicious glance. “This is so weird.”

Weird? San raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You. You being all...mysterious and brooding and asking about my plans, like what? You haven’t even said anything about the ugliest thing I’m wearing,” Wooyoung says, waving his fork around and sounding exasperated. “I mean, the mystery and brooding aren’t new, but you’re being so— I don’t know, why are you being so nice to me?”

Wooyoung’s outfit is an eyesore, but it’s Wooyoung, which means San can’t really look away anyway. “I didn’t know you wanted me to be mean to you when we aren’t fucking too,” he says with a quirk of his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Wooyoung says. He’s red, and San has to clench his fork to keep himself from doing something impulsive again. “You know what I mean. You sound like you’re the older kid who got out and then came back to share your wisdom with me or whatever, and that’s weird. You’re supposed to be just as confused about everything as me, it’s not fair.”

“Well, I’m still confused about some stuff, but maybe I figured some of it out too,” he replies, purposefully as vague as possible, and he’s thoroughly amused by how worked up Wooyoung looks about this. “Does this mean you should really be calling me hyung now?”

Wooyoung groans and starts dragging his hand down his face. “You are so missing the point.”

It can’t be helped anymore. San turns in his chair and reaches for Wooyoung’s forearm, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s really missed him until he’s finally coaxed Wooyoung into his lap and every bit of him is singing in relief at the contact, how much warmer and realer Wooyoung feels when he's within the circle of San's arms. “Okay, I’m sorry, baby,” he says, petting Wooyoung’s hips until Wooyoung stops rubbing at his poor, reddening cheek like that. “I won’t ask weird things like what your plans are for the week.”

“See, that’s not a weird question at all, but that’s not what you asked me. You were, like, do I have any plans in general. I haven’t been asked anything that existential since I was a uni student.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t ask weird things that’ll put you into an existential crisis,” San soothes. Wooyoung just huffs at him, but San still feels like cardboard that’s been sopped in rainwater the way only Wooyoung can apparently make him feel, and he settles a hand over the back of Wooyoung’s neck until Wooyoung stops fidgeting. San bites back a smile. Yeah, Wooyoung’s still the same, and San wants to— “Can I ask what your plans are for the week?”

“You don’t have to ask if you can ask, you can just ask, weirdo,” Wooyoung says.

San lands a light swat on his thigh. “Is that any way to talk to your hyung?”

“Please shut up,” Wooyoung says, but he’s blushing so pretty. “I’m back to teaching at the studio again, then I think Mingi wanted me and Jongho to go out for karaoke with him, Hongjoong, and maybe Yunho this Friday? It was one of your friends, I don’t remember.”

San’s distracted by how familiar that sounds for a moment. “You mean that club they were going to?”

Wooyoung blinks, apparently just as surprised that they both know about it. “Maybe? I swear Mingi said karaoke.”

“No, it’s definitely a club.” San flattens his mouth into a line. “Yunho made the address the name of our group chat and he’s been trying to convince us all to go by telling us how fun it is to get drunk with Mingi.”

Wooyoung pauses just long enough for San to start wondering if them going to a club instead puts him off, but then he sighs, “Mingi is fun to get drunk with. So did he invite you already too? Do you want to come?”

San lingers on the implication that if he hasn’t been invited, then Wooyoung is inviting him now. He’s not opposed to it, God knows he’s been meaning to actually get to know Jongho and Mingi somewhere that isn’t just their doorway, but— “If we’re going to a club, sure,” he says. “I don’t really do well with the karaoke scene.”

Wooyoung tilts his head. For a moment, San thinks he might ask about it, what it means when San used to sing for him so often, in the quiet of his room, but thankfully Wooyoung seems to drop it for now. “Honestly, I wasn’t paying attention when they asked me, so you’re probably right about the club.”

“Mm.” He rubs at the material of Wooyoung’s shirt absently. He tugs out that part of it he’d seen tucked in, smoothing the hem out. “I guess my next problem is that I don’t have anything to wear.”

“What? You don’t have anything to wear?” Wooyoung makes a disbelieving noise. “What about what you were wearing last week?”

“Which last week? I don’t think the bar would take me in a towel.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “I meant that time you waited six hours for me to get off of work.”

“Four hours.”

“You’re saying that like it makes it less worse, but it really doesn’t. What was wrong with that outfit though?”

He tongues thoughtfully at his piercing again. “It’s, like, the only outfit I own for going out?”

“Oh my god. Is that why Yeosang mentioned you haven’t gone out all week?”

That fucking traitor. “I left most of my shit in my place at Incheon. Didn’t really know how long I’d be staying here, so I figured I’d just buy whatever I didn’t have.”

“Oh my god. Rich people.”

He pinches Wooyoung again just as Wooyoung starts trying to clamber out of his lap, and Wooyoung yelps and swats him on the wrist. “You were rich people too,” San reminds him with a click of his tongue.

“Yeah, and I’m working two jobs now, so now I appreciate not impulse shopping more, okay.”

San frowns. “Two jobs? I thought you were just hanging around Hongjoong’s shop because you were friends. If you need help—”

“Oh, nope,” Wooyoung says, wiggling out of his lap completely now to reach for his dirty plate. “Nope, we’re not getting into that.”

“But I’m serious, Youngie.”

“I’m serious too! It’s fine, I made that sound way more dramatic than it really was. You do need more clothes if you plan to go more than two places per week, though, so you should get on that before we go.”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” San says dismissively. He still isn’t finished with that other subject, but he’s already feeling the ache of Wooyoung’s absence, so he sighs and says, “I won’t mention rich people again either, so can you come back?”

Wooyoung puts a hand on his hip. “Ask nicely.”

San tugs him back down, swiftly taking the plate from his hands and setting it back on the table.

“You have a thing for this,” Wooyoung accuses.

“Isn’t that my line?” San says mildly, cupping his cheek. For all Wooyoung barks, sometimes he barely bites when San has him the right way, so easy for San to push around.

Like now. Wooyoung licks his lips like he does before he’s about to test him, then turns his face out of his hand. San doesn’t let him get too far before cupping his jaw again and tilting him back to face him, watching Wooyoung’s gaze flicker downwards.

San can’t even feel smug about it, because he’s been looking at his own mouth the whole night too. God, has it always been this bad? How did he spend all of that time being so close to him without losing his goddamn mind before?

“Young-ah,” he says, waiting for Wooyoung’s eyes to drift up and meet his again. “Can I kiss you?”

Wooyoung blushes. San doesn’t think he’s ever seen him blush this much, not even at their worst times years ago, and he thinks it’s going to make him go insane sooner or later if Wooyoung says no now, but like a miracle, Wooyoung mutters, “You don’t have to ask before that either, dummy.”

“What did I say about being polite when talking to your—”

Wooyoung cuts him off by yanking the front of his shirt into his hands. “Just kiss me.”

San kisses him, and in it, he exhales a breath that he thinks he’s been holding all week. Wooyoung is an even better kisser now—he’s always been San’s favorite to kiss, but there’s a new confidence to him that he doesn’t remember five years ago, cushioned by a familiar pliantness when San inevitably deepens it. The thought that Wooyoung might be better now because he’s kissed other people makes him taste vinegar, and he slides his arm around Wooyoung’s lower back and pulls him closer to kiss it all out of him.

Wooyoung doesn’t seem fazed about kissing him with a piercing either, but before his thoughts can be derailed by the implications of that, Wooyoung slides his hands into his hair and sighs into his mouth, wiping out every rational thought from his mind. San doesn’t know how he does that, how he can sound like a goddamn siren’s call in his own right without even saying a word, and if he even knows he does it. 

“This doesn’t feel like ‘normal dinner’ anymore,” he hears Wooyoung say faintly.

San draws back, nibbling at his lip ring in the absence of Wooyoung’s soft mouth. Wooyoung’s a fucking sight like this, eyes dark and lips flushed and parted. Sometimes he makes San want to just— “Do you want to stop?” he murmurs.

After a moment’s pause, Wooyoung says, “No.” His fingers smooth once more through San’s hair again, and San can feel him linger at the end, playing with the strands, and he’s so fucking— God.  

“All right,” San says. “You kiss me this time.”

He’s starting to be less afraid of the response from Wooyoung now. Wooyoung’s features remain unchanged, if not a little arch, like he’s considering saying no just for show. 

Wooyoung kisses him this time, and this time San welcomes him eagerly, wasting no time plying his mouth open. 

He thinks he’s trying to make up for what they’ve lost. Five fucking years. He’s dizzy with it, how much he’s missed out on because he was so stubborn. Wooyoung was right, he doesn’t regret leaving, he just regrets how he did. Maybe they would still be in the same place they are now, but at least he wouldn’t have this five-year cavity anymore. At least he wouldn’t have spent every show searching the faces in the crowd, wondering if he’d ever find Wooyoung there one day, because maybe he would have never felt like he lost him. 

Wooyoung lets him slide his hands up his shirt. Wooyoung lets him kiss down his jaw, down his neck, lets him leave all the marks he likes. He feels Wooyoung shiver at them, and he tries to hold him closer to make up for it, tries to splay his hands over as much of his back as he can to shield him, but Wooyoung doesn’t once say anything about it. It’s only when San’s hand skims the waistband of his pants that he whispers, “Not here, we have to go to my room.”

San carries him there, making sure he’s secure before he starts moving. Wooyoung takes his turn mouthing at his neck, but as soon as they’re in his room and San nudges the door shut behind them, he’s cradling San’s face with both hands and pressing their lips together instead.

Wooyoung holds him like he’s afraid of letting go—or he’s afraid of being let go of.

San feels cruel. Please don't give up on me, he tries to promise with every kiss, Please wait for me. I promise you I'll love you the way you deserve to be.

When he feels Wooyoung pawing at his waistband, he slows him. “Are you sure?” he murmurs.

“I’m sure,” Wooyoung says.

He lets San kiss him lower and lower. He lets San take him into his mouth, and he lets San in, opening up to him every step of the way so easily, and he lets San press him down into the mattress and swallow down his cries when San wraps a hand around him too. It’s softer-edged this time, despite the wantwantwant that always claws him up inside when he has Wooyoung like this.

When Wooyoung cums, San settles between his legs and licks at him, coaxes him open on his tongue again and cleans him out, and Wooyoung lies there and trembles from the oversensitivity but lets him do that too. And when the air’s heavy with sweat and sex and everything San wishes he could just say, Wooyoung asks, “Do you have to go?”

Do you have to go, he says, not will you stay, and San is afraid that Wooyoung would let him leave too without so much as a complaint.

“S’okay if you do,” Wooyoung murmurs, fingers dancing over his cheeks. “Just wanted to see you tomorrow, too. If you want.”

“I want to if you want to.” San catches one of his hands and squeezes. Wooyoung’s always gorgeous, but he’s especially gorgeous when he’s spread out beneath San like this, dark hair fanning out on baby blue sheets, covered in his marks. “Dinner again? I’ll take you out somewhere this time. I’ll wear the nice new clothes I’ll buy.”

“Don’t have to,” Wooyoung says sleepily, already closing his eyes. “We can go to your place instead? I’ll make you something. Maybe we can grab groceries too so you’ll have something in that fridge that isn’t alcohol and gum. Why the fuck are you refrigerating gum?”

“I’m trying to spoil you and you’re trying to cook for me,” San says, ignoring the rest. He gets a hand in his face for that.

“You can spoil me by letting me cook for you,” Wooyoung deadpans without opening his eyes. 

“I didn’t eat you out well enough if you can still argue with me,” San says, sliding a hand beneath his thigh and getting ready to push it up again, and Wooyoung’s eyes fly back open as he squeaks and hurries to clamp them shut.

“San,” he whines when San sneaks a hand down there anyway, circling two fingers over his soft, stretched rim. He shivers when San slips them in, and San can feel his thighs shaking, but he keeps them spread open for him anyway, and he’s being so good that San wants to finger him through a few more orgasms.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he huffs into Wooyoung’s neck, scraping his teeth over a particularly severe hickey he left earlier. “I've been thinking about you all week. I hate leaving you empty.”

“Then why’d you eat me out, asshole,” Wooyoung hisses.

“That’s not the only thing I could fill you up with.” San tuts, languidly pushing in a third finger with the rest, and Wooyoung mewls at it. San loves making him do that. “If you won’t let me spoil you with food, I’m buying you a plug.”

“No you’re not,” Wooyoung says, panting, arching off the bed when San brushes over his prostate. San takes one of his nipples into his mouth just to feel that wet heat clench around him. “Not without me, ah, picking it out.”

San groans, hooking his fingers harder into that abused bundle of nerves until Wooyoung cries out. “Fine with me, baby. You can pick out anything you like.”

He ends up back between Wooyoung’s thighs after all, hooking them firmly over his shoulders so Wooyoung can’t go anywhere until San tonguefucks him into a shaking second orgasm. By the time San replaces his tongue with his fingers again and crawls back up to kiss him, his cheeks are wet with tears, eyes glazed over like he’s not really seeing San anymore.

“Such a good look on you,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of his gasping mouth, trying to commit this sight into his memory. “Wanna keep you like this all the time. I’d treat you so fucking well, Youngie.”

Wooyoung fumbles for his shoulders, and San goes, bracing himself low on his forearms so Wooyoung can hide his face into his neck. He’s adorable, San thinks.

“Can you stay,” Wooyoung rasps, finally. It's how San likes him, floating far enough above his own mind to ask for what he wants without getting caught in the thornbush of overthinking.

He tries to silently run through all the things he has to do tomorrow, but it’s half-hearted when Wooyoung keeps clenching around his fingers and when he knows he’s never going to deny Wooyoung asking him to stay again. “I can do that,” he promises. 

He wants to get back between his legs, but both his wrist and his jaw are starting to ache, and he kind of hates that when Wooyoung deserves to be made to feel good all night. Maybe if Wooyoung decides to go out with him tomorrow, he thinks, they can find a solution for that together. Maybe if Wooyoung lets him borrow something from his closet too, no one will glance twice in his direction. Maybe he can have a day to himself, and maybe he can have it with Wooyoung.

He nuzzles against Wooyoung’s temple. “Baby. You wanna come with me tomorrow?”

He can still feel Wooyoung twitching around him, but he sees that his eyes have fluttered shut, lashes clumped with the remains of his tears. San bites back his sigh so he won’t wake him and kisses the backs of his eyelids, one by one, before carefully pulling his fingers out and settling him more comfortably into the pillows. San lowers himself down next to him, coaxing Wooyoung’s leg to hike over his hip so he can stroke his thigh soothingly.

He’ll ask again when Wooyoung wakes tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Here’s how the dreams always start: Wooyoung is calling his name.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the sky. It isn’t always the same—sometimes it’s the dark ceiling of a round, stone room, sometimes it’s a radiant, cloudless afternoon sky, sometimes it’s a canvas of bright stars rippling with emerald like the northern lights.

It almost never matters, because Wooyoung will call his name again, and San will look up and Wooyoung will be there sitting next to him with his flaxen hair and scared eyes, looking down at him strangely, like this is his dream and San is the intruder.

Most times, he’s quietly asking for San to stay. Other times, he doesn’t need to ask at all, a whisper of San’s name enough for San to understand what he’s asking for.

Tonight it’s neither of these things.

They’re standing in a courtyard, the cobblestone ridden with cracks lightning-striking up to a broken stone fountain. Around them, dilapidated wooden houses lie in ruins, festival strings tangled up in fallen light posts. Above them, the sky burns a sickly green, ripped into two, revealing a fucking unfathomable emptiness just waiting beyond it.

“Don’t be scared, Sannie,” Wooyoung says. “Just look at me.”

He’s here. San doesn’t think there could be any version of these dreams without him. His hair is that same shade of softened sunlight, and it’s like he doesn’t see the sky at all, only tilting his head up at San and giving him a gentle smile.

“Only me,” he says softly.

San brings a hand to his cheek, finding that it’s wet.

Wooyoung lays a hand over his and brings him down to lean their foreheads together, and as the sky moans and the earth trembles, Wooyoung’s voice remains soft, whispering against his lips, “Only us.”


- ♮ -



He wakes. Wooyoung, dark-haired and clear-eyed, is hovering above him, looking concerned.

He tries to lift his head, only to groan when his skull throbs at the movement. “Morning,” he mutters, reaching out blindly and finding Wooyoung’s waist.

“Afternoon,” he hears Wooyoung say. A second later, there’s a hand running through his hair. “You okay? That didn’t look like a good dream.”

“Happens sometimes. Don’t even remember it now.” He nuzzles into the touch, even though the rest of his body is pretty vocal about how much it hates being awake. “What time s’it?”

“Uh. A few minutes past one?”

A little more awake now, San blinks. “Shit.”

Maybe he looks even more disgruntled than he feels, because Wooyoung laughs, and San realizes as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes that it’s the first time he’s heard him laugh since five years ago. It sparks a dangerously warm feeling in his chest. “You think that’s funny, hm?” he mutters, reaching out for his arms.

“Do I think it’s funny that your hair makes you look like you’re about to go Super Saiyan? Yeah, I think it— oh my godnoyoufucker—”

San yanks him back down to the bed and rolls right over him, and surviving muscle memory allows him to find and poke all of the sensitive spots in Wooyoung’s sides until he’s howling with laughter. Amused, San just catches his flailing wrists with one hand and pauses his other one on Wooyoung’s waist. “Now take it back,” he says.

“I’m sorry I told you the truth.” Wooyoung wriggles against him, looking completely unrepentant. “And sorry you’re a giant baby.”

San squeezes his hip one last time before rolling off of him, landing on his back with a grunt. “You showered already? How long’ve you been up?”

He feels Wooyoung follow after him, the familiar warmth of his hand settling on his chest a moment later. Wooyoung burrows close. “Maybe an hour? You looked tired, so I thought you should sleep some more.”

San decides not to mention that he’s been sleeping all week. It was easier to deal with when they had the albums and the shows to give him an adrenaline shot, but apparently now that they’re technically on their own and there’s no rush, his body’s been eager to catch up on all the hours of sleep he’s lost out on. 

He supposes it’s a little better in other ways. He feels Wooyoung drawing idle things into his chest, chasing away the heaviness in his eyes with every passing second. “Did these hurt?” Wooyoung asks, sounding curious. San feels him brush his fingers over one of his nipple piercings.

He shivers a little. “When I got them, yeah,” he says, sneaking a hand into Wooyoung’s hair and rubbing idly at his scalp. It’s still a little damp, smelling fresh of shampoo. “Why, you thinking of getting yours done?”

“I thought about it once,” Wooyoung sighs. “Wasn’t really sure how long it’d take to heal though, and I couldn’t call off at the studio just ‘cause I got my nipples pierced.”

“Jung Wooyoung with nipple piercings,” San says to the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung snickers.

“Manifesting it.” Feeling fond, San pats his head. “Can I do my laundry before I go?”

“I was thinking you should just borrow something from my closet. I can do your laundry with mine later and bring it when I come over for dinner.” Wooyoung starts to get back up, and San reluctantly lets him go. “You should shower before my roommates get up, though. I’m making them haejangguk, but there should be enough for all of us if you wanna eat something before you go too.”

“How come I can’t buy you dinner but you can lend me your clothes and make me breakfast soup?”

“Because we’re at my place, so it’s my rules.”

“So I’m allowed to buy you stuff once we’re out of here? Because I was serious about the plug.”

“Oh my god.” Wooyoung's at one of his drawers now, digging something and throwing it at San. Oh, they're clothes. “If you can find one that isn’t bright magenta, I’ll think about it.”

“I live to impress,” San vows.

“And to be a pain in my ass, in all kinds of ways,” Wooyoung says. “Go shower, then meet me in the kitchen."


- ♮ -


One shower later, he finds the clothes that Wooyoung has set out for him—a pair of dark denim jeans, a safety pin, and a well-worn black shirt emblazoned with The Horizon’s band logo. It all gets a chuckle out of him, and after slipping the pants on and safety pinning the extra circumference of the waistband around his hips, he finds that Wooyoung had brought his phone and his jacket over from the kitchen too. He’s scrolling through his phone when he spies a familiar cover peeking out from behind Wooyoung’s dresser.

He doesn’t mean to snoop, but he thinks an exception can be made for his own band’s albums. It’s a vinyl record. It’s The Cranes, he recognizes, their first album that they were asked nowhere near as often as they were asked about their more popular albums. The cover feels like it’s been used plenty of times, but he doesn’t remember seeing a record player around the apartment.

He leaves it for now, padding out of Wooyoung’s room and down the short hallway to the kitchen. He finds Wooyoung pouring the soup into some bowls, and he announces his presence with a hum so Wooyoung doesn’t startle when he drapes himself over his back.

“Picked out this shirt ‘specially for me?” he murmurs, nuzzling a kiss into the back of his neck.

“It was the only thing I have that looked edgy enough for you.”

“It’s cute that you have my merch.”

“Your shirts are comfortable,” Wooyoung relents. “You want a bowl before you go?”

San hums, rubbing his belly in gratitude before accepting the bowl. “It smells good. You wanna look at this for me?” He tucks his chin over Wooyoung’s shoulder as he presents his phone with his other hand, the shopping cart visible onscreen.

He knows the exact moment Wooyoung sees it, because Wooyoung makes a little noise and freezes in his arms. “They come in that shape?”

“Yeah. I picked this one ‘cause of the jewel, but here, you can look at the other ones too.” He nudges his phone into Wooyoung’s now-empty hand, feeling how warm he’s becoming as he presses more kisses down the slope of Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Or we can see them in person, if you wanna come out with me sometime, hm? Some of them vibrate. And some of them th—”

“Oh my god?”

San glances behind him to see Mingi standing there, eyes wide as saucers. Oh, right, he still doesn’t have his shirt on. “Hey. Sorry.” He gives Wooyoung’s hip a parting squeeze before pulling away to finally tug his shirt on. He’s pretty sure he sees Mingi staring, and he flashes him a little smirk as he tucks a portion of the hem into his jeans. “Mingi, right?”

“Yep,” Mingi says, still frozen there.

“Sorry for kinda crashing, Wooyoung was nice enough to feed me last night. And this morning, too.” He raises the bowl Wooyoung had given him like a toast, then settles in one of the empty chairs. “I’ll be out of here soon, don’t worry.”

“No, it’s, like— It’s fine, you can stay until whenever,” Mingi says. He seems to stumble over to the stovetop, where Wooyoung finally moves and clamps the phone to his chest as Mingi passes him. “I just didn’t know we had someone over?” That seems pointed at Wooyoung.

“I texted you and Jjongie last night. Not my fault if you were too busy crowdsurfing to see it,” Wooyoung mutters, gesturing towards the bowls with an elbow. “Take a bowl for you and Jongho.”

“You always make the best hangover soup,” Mingi sighs appreciatively as he picks up two and settles down across from San. “Hey, so I don’t know if Yunho’s told you, but we’re planning to go out tomorrow night, if you wanna come? Wooyoung’s coming too, right, Wooyoung-ah?”

“Oh, yeah, Yunho definitely told us. I’m coming,” San answers as he starts to eat. “Gotta go out and buy something to wear today, actually.”

“You looked hot even when you were just wearing that white t-shirt from that one Tokyo show. You could pull off anything,” Mingi says solemnly.

San grins. “Thanks, Mingi.”

“I’ll help you find something,” Wooyoung says. He’s finally turning from the stovetop now, sliding into the seat next to San’s neatly and placing the phone face-down on the table. “I’ll change after we eat, if you wanna wait for me?”

San tilts his head, but Wooyoung is studiously looking into his soup as he begins to eat. San catches him adjusting himself subtly, but Mingi looks none the wiser, and now San’s just intrigued. “Today?”

“Yeah, why not? If you’re up for it.”

If you’re up for it. Like San hasn’t put an exorbitant amount of thought on what objects would look prettiest between Wooyoung's legs. “I’m up for it if you’re up for it, Youngie.”


- ♮ -


Wooyoung’s roommates are nice. He remembers seeing Choi Jongho around a few times before he left Seoul the first time but never really got to know him. Mingi’s new, though San’s starting to recognize which of Yunho’s middle school stories have actually been about him this whole time. They look comfortable the entire morning, bickering over soup and their apparent hangovers, and even though Jongho looked stunned to see him at the table when he walked in too, they both roped him into the conversation like he was any other person, and, honestly? Yeah, that felt good.

When they all finish and Wooyoung and Mingi wander off to change and to shower, San finds himself alone at the table with Jongho. He helps him gather the bowls up at the sink, originally reaching for the faucet before Jongho waves him away with a, “Don’t worry about it, we’re about to load the dishwasher.”

San leans on the counter next to him, then. After a moment’s silence, he ventures, “Gonna give me the shovel talk?”

“Wooyoung-hyung’s old enough to know what he’s doing,” Jongho says as he loads the bowls in. “As long as you don’t plan to hurt him, then—”

“I don’t,” San says.

“Then good,” Jongho says. “End of shovel talk.”

When Wooyoung comes back, he’s got a hoodie and a dark face mask, both of which he pushes into San’s arms. “Figured you’d want something with a hood if you don’t want people to recognize you,” he says simply.

“I don’t think anyone would think to look where we’re going, but I’m not worried about people recognizing me. Even if they did, I’m pretty sure that a sex shop ranks pretty tame on a list of possible scandals someone in a rock band can have,” San tells him, adjusting the hood of the jacket he’s wearing in turn. “Do you have a mask?”

Wooyoung waves a second dark slip in his hand. “I do, but no one would really bat an eye at me in a sex shop, San.”

“I would,” San says. “If I saw that someone as pretty as you has to step foot in a sex shop, I’d wonder what the chances are for the rest of us then.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Wooyoung puts on the mask, but San can see his cheeks reddening underneath it. “Not everyone goes to a sex shop because they can’t get it anywhere else.”

“True.” San nods. “My ego would be really bruised if we were going to a sex shop because you didn’t feel like you were getting it from me.”

That flush just deepens, but Wooyoung doesn’t correct him. “Are we going to go now or what?”

San tugs him in by the hips, nosing down at his hair. “If you promise you’ll keep the mask on the whole time? When we’re at the mall, too.” The last thing he wants is for those vultures to recognize Wooyoung and start harassing him. He could handle a worst case scenario, but no scenario at all would be even better.

“I promise. Come on, it’ll be fun.” Wooyoung eases the mask out of his hands and puts it on for him too. Judging by the slight crinkle in his eyes, he’s smiling under that mask. “I’ve been meaning to get another vibrator too.”


San’s hand instinctively tightens on his hips at that, but Wooyoung’s eyes just crinkle again, and he slips easily out of San’s hold and heads for the door.


- ♮ -


The store is in the outskirts of a shopping district in Gangnam, which isn’t as packed at three in the afternoon. San finds a spot in one of the parking lots easier than he expects, but he lingers a little after shutting the engine off, assessing the street in front of them and then behind them.

“I don’t see anyone,” Wooyoung says, reaching over to squeeze his hand, but he seems to wait for San’s cue.

One last glance at the rearview mirror. “Yeah. I think we’re good.” San squeezes his hand back, then tugs his hood up. “Just stay close, yeah?”

“I will.”

He locks the car once they’re outside, rounding the back to meet Wooyoung on his side. Instinctively, he reaches for his waist, but a car rumbles down the road in front of him and pins him back to reality, and he folds his arm awkwardly back over his own stomach. “Ready?”

Wooyoung looks up at him. He’s in a gray jacket oversized enough to swallow his whole frame, but San recognizes his fidgeting beneath his sleeves. “Could I, uh—” San can see his jaw working beneath his mask. “It might be easier for me to stay close if I hold onto your hand?”

San’s mouth goes dry. Something starts prickling at his cheeks, and what the fuck? Why is he blushing at the question? “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Wooyoung nods quickly. “Okay.”

There’s a pause, and then— San wonders if he should take his hand, but then Wooyoung’s reaching out, the tips of his fingers beneath his sleeve seeking out San’s. San feels that warmth only worsen when Wooyoung tangles their fingers loosely, and he resolutely looks away, willing his face to be normal.  

“San-ah?” Wooyoung says.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

“What?” he grits out. He forces himself to look at Wooyoung so Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, but he finds Wooyoung looking at him curiously now.


“I don’t know the way, so you have to lead,” Wooyoung says quietly, but if San’s not mistaken, he sounds a little amused.


“I was just waiting for you to be ready,” he grumbles, and to prove that he’s capable of something as small as holding his hand, he laces their fingers more firmly together and begins to walk.

“Baby,” Wooyoung says warmly.

San huffs. “Shut it.”

It’s weird walking in broad daylight in Seoul, but only because he’s used to cameras and recorders being thrust in his face and having to lower his gaze to avoid the flashes. His clothes must be doing a decent job at concealing his identity though, because most of the people they pass only do double takes at their joined hands. San makes sure to catch every single one of their eyes and dare them to say something.

“I’m pretty sure you’re terrifying people,” Wooyoung comments.

“Good,” San says.

The store is tucked in a fairly secluded part of the shopping district, the sign reading Threestars practically obscured by the glass walkway above it connecting some other two stores. The door chirps a little tune when they walk in, and before San can realize that they’re still holding hands, he spots two clerks giggling together at the front counter, one leaning close into the other’s space.

They jump apart as soon as they hear the door. “Hi! Welcome to Threestars!” one of them calls out cheerfully, but even from across the room, San can see her cheeks tinted pink. By the time she comes close enough for San to see the name Sua printed on her nametag, he still hasn’t remembered to let go of Wooyoung’s hand, and her gaze drops to it before he can move.

He’s ready to nudge Wooyoung behind him until she flashes them a new smile, this one noticeably relieved, and only says, “Can I help you find anything specific today, or are you just browsing?”

“I think we already have a pretty good idea,” Wooyoung says, using a genial voice that San hasn’t heard him use since the last time they ran into each other at a party five years ago. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course, of course.” She beams at them. “Well, our video collection is just through that back corner, and we’re offering discounts for new members to our loyalty program, if you’d be interested in either of those! If you have any questions about them or any of our products at all, don’t hesitate to find me or my coworker up there.” She exhales, like this is a script she’s had practiced for a while. “Otherwise, I hope you have a pleasant, comfortable shopping experience with us!”

“We definitely will. Thank you so much again,” Wooyoung says, giving a small bow.

When they’re finally alone again, Wooyoung turns to him first. “Hear that? They have a video collection.”

San tears his gaze away from the rest of the store, which is better lit and more modern-looking than he expected it to be. “Mm. I’d only really be interested if you were in it,” he says honestly. “But if you’re into it, we can give it a shot.”

“I think a sex tape would be a little higher up the list of bad scandals to have,” Wooyoung says.

San raises an eyebrow, reaching out to him. “Why? I don’t have anything to hide if you don’t.”

Apparently, Wooyoung wasn't expecting to hear that. “Noted,” he says, looking away first, and San just smirks and pets his hip.

“We can look more into that another time. You wanna help me find that plug, or were you going to look for your vibrator?”

“I’m— I’ll see if I find something, then I’ll come find you.” Now that he’s tripped up, it seems like Wooyoung’s only getting more flustered. San’s fingers twitch as he barely quashes the urge to kiss him right there.

“Sounds good.” He noses lightly against his temple in lieu of giving him a kiss, letting his fingers drag over Wooyoung’s hip as he pulls away. “Try not to forget about me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hears Wooyoung grumble before he moves away, and San bites back a chuckle as he goes his way too.

For an adult store, the color organization is pretty impressive. With the tile floor and most of the shelves being a sleek white, the toys pop out in their lurid shades of pink, blue, and green, with one of each displayed in a glass box in front of the actual stock. He finds the section for anal plugs pretty easily and immediately starts on trying to find the one he’d seen on their website.

He’s not sure how much time passes before Wooyoung rejoins him, empty-handed. San glances up from the plug he’s examining, wrapping his free arm around Wooyoung’s waist and bringing him into his side.

“Nothing good?” he hums.

“I don’t know, I think I got there and then blacked out a little,” Wooyoung says, sounding honest.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to take you back to the car?” San says with a small frown, setting the box down to turn to him. “We can leave if you’re—”

“No! No, I want to.” Wooyoung shakes his head quickly. “Be here, I mean. I just—” He rubs at his cheeks through his mask, and San squeezes his hip patiently, waiting for him to go on. “Okay, so. Usually when I come to these shops, I’m buying stuff for myself? Like. That I’ll use on myself. But now I’m just— I keep imagining how we— you’re— am I making any sense?”

“I think so. You’re thinking about how I’m going to use them on you?” San says.

Wooyoung’s shifting his hands to cover his face now. “Yes. That.”

“Good thinking, or uncomfortable thinking?”

Wooyoung takes a deep breath. “Good thinking,” he says, and oh, he’s warm, San finally realizes, and he’s been trying to hide it by angling himself into San’s side, but all it does is make San aware of the heat between his legs too.

“Oh,” he says. “Baby.”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” Wooyoung mumbles.

“You’re cute. I can’t help it.”

Wooyoung drops his head against his shoulder, apparently giving up. “I’m just going to stay with you, okay?”

“Okay,” San says easily, rubbing his hip with his thumb. “After we pick a plug out, we can go back to your section? Maybe I can help.”

“What do you mean by help.”

San smiles. “Help by telling you which ones I think you’d look pretty crying on all night. You know, in case you need a tiebreaker.”

Wooyoung blushes so brightly that San chuckles and tucks him closer into his side.

“I haven’t seen you this shy since the first time I had you alone in my room,” he says gleefully. “I was starting to think I finally corrupted you for good. Here, what do you think of this plug?”

He pick up the box he’d been looking at and points it to the matching display. The plug is black silicone, maybe a little shorter than his hand but stout, tapering into a rounded point on one end and a flared base on the other. It’s been tilted to show off a round amber jewel embedded into the base, one that San thinks would look pretty nestled between Wooyoung’s cheeks.

“Does it do anything?” Wooyoung asks, reaching for the box.

“Hm, I don’t think so. I was looking at the vibrating ones too, I thought they’d be more fun. Some of them can hook up to an app too, not just a remote.”

Wooyoung gets that little furrow between his brows again. “Would we need both?”

“If it was on my phone, I could just change the settings around when we’re out and it won’t look weird,” San says, shrugging. 

“Oh.” That blush is starting to look increasingly permanent on Wooyoung. “Okay. Yeah, let’s look for one of those." He clears his throat and starts to reach for one, seemingly blindly. "What about this one?”

This one is noticeably longer than the others, with two bumps along the length before it tapers into a rounder tip. Towards the base is a series of ridges, and according to the packaging, that’s where the mechanisms are. “Oh, yeah,” San says. “That’s one of those thrusting ones.”

“Thrusting ones?”

“There should be a display somewhere— Here.” There’s a remote in front of its matching display. San presses the on button, and the plug inside the glass immediately whirs to life, vibrating and thrusting upwards.

“It’s barely moving,” Wooyoung says, leaning forward critically.

San’s inclined to agree. “Yeah, I’m not convinced either. I saw the reviews on the website, too. They say it’s even less noticeable when it’s being squeezed, and you’re always so tight.”

Wooyoung pinches the bridge of his nose, looking resigned. “But if we’re planning to use this after you… afterwards, I’ll already be stretched.”

“You’ve never felt yourself even after two rounds,” he says, but he’s grinning a little, content that Wooyoung’s starting to meet him on the same page. “If you like it, then we’ll get it, baby. As long as you don’t mind that it might get a little messy.”

“What do you mean, messy? The whole point of a plug’s to keep it inside,” Wooyoung grumbles.

“Yeah, and this one’s just going to fuck through it, so you might end up leaking a little anyway.”

Wooyoung rubs his face, and after a short pause, he says, “I don’t think I’d mind that.”

San’s grin widens. “Fine with me, then.” He hands both the jeweled plug and the longer plug to Wooyoung, who sputters a little, looking confused.

“San, one of these alone costs, like—”

“Ah, ah.” San clicks his tongue. “My turn to spoil you, remember? Come on, let’s find a basket for these.” 

“Why would we need a basket—”

Wooyoung seems to eventually see the need for one fifteen minutes later, after they’ve gone through the aisle of lubricants. “Why do we need so much lube,” he whispers furiously as San tosses another tube in.

“What if we run out in the middle of the night?”

“Do you actually plan to fuck me all night?”

In a perfect world, San thinks unhappily. A perfect world where refractory periods didn’t exist. Maybe he can look into cock rings too. For now, he settles on the explanation of, “Sort of. It’s more complex than that.”

“More complex than…” Wooyoung echoes, before breaking off into a small noise that San’s starting to understand means, I can’t believe this is happening. “Do I want to know what you mean by ‘more complex’?”

San tilts his head at the question. “Do you?” he says evenly, tugging Wooyoung a little closer. “Want to know what I would do to you, if I could?”

His boots give him just enough extra height that Wooyoung has to look up at him. His eyes are always so honest, reflecting curiosity despite the way he’s blushing, and he’s so pretty even with the mask hiding more than half of his face that, not for the first time, San wants to push him up against one of the shelves and kiss him right there, and what drives him fucking insane even more than Wooyoung himself is how Wooyoung doesn’t seem to know what he does to him.

Maybe that’s a good thing. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do once Wooyoung figures out he’s one bat of his lashes away from dropping down to his knees at any given moment.

San sees those pretty eyes shift downwards for a moment before returning to meet his gaze. He sees his throat bob with a swallow. “Yeah, I wanna know.”

San takes the last step between them, chuckling when Wooyoung seems surprised to suddenly find him that close. He slides his arm broadly over Wooyoung’s back, feeling the heat emanating from his body even through his layers of clothing, and delights in the small shiver he earns.

“I wanna make you feel good all night,” he murmurs. “I wanna make up for all the times we had to rush through it, all the times you had to leave before the night was even done, and the last five years I spent being a fucking idiot when I could’ve had this. Could’ve had you.” He smooths a kiss over Wooyoung’s forehead, feeling a flutter of affection. “I wanna make you feel so good that it’s all you know how to do. You’re always so goddamn stubborn about letting me do things for you, but maybe I’ve been doing it wrong all this time, hm? Always trying to convince you when you still have enough of your pretty head to think. I think I wanna fuck that out of you, baby. I wanna open you up with my fingers, then eat you out until you cry, and maybe then I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you until you get that lost little look on your face, like you don’t know what to do with it all, and I wanna fuck you until you aren’t even thinking about what to do with it anymore. But it isn’t even about me fucking you, not really.”

“Then what is it about?" Wooyoung says quietly.

“Just about you, Youngie. You know what I like best about you. You’re always so honest when you’re under me. You get so flustered whenever I talk about what I want to do to you, but you still like it just as rough, just as filthy, don’t you? I think you just need someone to make you take it, even when the waterworks start and you start telling me you can’t anymore. Simpler that way. Doesn’t matter if I’m doing it with my mouth or my dick or one of these toys, it’d be so much easier to take if I just made you cum enough times that it’s all you can think about anymore, only keeping your legs spread for me and lying there and letting me make you feel good, don’t you think? Could you trust me to do that, baby?”

Wooyoung shudders against him, averting his gaze first and lowering his head with a furious blush, but San slides his hand up and grips the back of his neck tightly until he looks up again.

“Eyes on me, Wooyoung,” he reminds him lowly. “Answer my question. I’m not doing anything you don’t tell me I can do.”

It takes a moment, but Wooyoung lifts his eyes. “Yes,” he mumbles.


“Yeah, I trust you to do— everything. Everything you said.” 

He can see a familiar cloudiness creeping into Wooyoung’s gaze, and he releases him with a few scritches to the edge of his scalp, satisfied for now. “All right. Then be good and let me buy everything I need to do that, hm?”

If there was really a spell in his words, it would’ve been broken by him releasing Wooyoung and letting him return to his side again. He knows Wooyoung’s still with him when he hears him mutter, “Like you really need nine bottles of lube for that.”

“I’m not planning to do this once and then never again,” he replies busily, leading them out of the aisle towards those vibrators Wooyoung seems to like so much. “I think you need someone to fuck you out of your own head at least a couple of times per month.”

“What are you, my sex doctor?”

“No, I’m your—”


“Show me the ones you like,” he says instead, nudging Wooyoung towards the shelf of vibrators. “Do you care about the color?”

“They all do the same thing,” Wooyoung mutters. “Maybe a nicer shade of pink instead of just violent magenta, but as long as it's rechargeable and lasts for more than two hours, I'm not picky.”

“Is two hours the longest they can go? For these prices?” 

“Don’t say that so loud, the clerks are right—”

“I’m serious, are we going to need to buy four to make sure we have at least one working at all times?”

“Oh my god. This is the last time I’m ever going shopping with you.”

“You’re hurting my feelings,” San says. “Look, this one looks like a drill.” Kind of bulky, but handheld, and the dildo it comes with is sleek and black.

Wooyoung shivers again, but he doesn’t look opposed to it, which San tucks away for future reference. “I definitely I wouldn’t be able to stay still for that.”

San pokes his tongue into his cheek thoughtfully. “Would you let me tie you down?”

“It...depends on what with?” Wooyoung hesitates, and San’s about to tell him that they’ll never touch restraints at all if he doesn’t want to, until Wooyoung says quickly, “I like when it’s softer things like satin, or basically anything that isn’t cold metal or, like, rope? Or— they, these bars? Or— I like when you just hold me down too, we can just stick with that if you want.”

“Bars?” he questions.

“Yeah.” Wooyoung blinks, like he’s surprised that he’s mentioned something that San doesn’t know about already. “They’re like— They had one here, I’ll show you.”

This time, Wooyoung leads him over, albeit with bright red cheeks. It’s really starting to piss him off that he can’t just press Wooyoung against the wall here. He wouldn’t even do anything that bad. He’d just kiss him a few times, that’s all.

He’s debating asking the clerks about their policies on kisses when they arrive at the display Wooyoung apparently wanted to show him.

“One of these,” Wooyoung says, dropping down to a crouch by one of the device’s legs. “It looks like it comes with this thing, but maybe we can ask if they sell them separately, if you’d be into using them on me… San-ah?”

Oh. Yeah. San barely catches any of that, because Wooyoung has just led him to a section of fucking machines and doesn't even look fazed by it, by this wide, open podium of three of them on display. The first one looks like a bottomless bench designed for someone to sit on with the machine underneath, the second one seems to come in two separate pieces with its own leather bench with restraints, and the third one, the one Wooyoung is kneeling guilelessly by, is a single device braced much lower to the ground, with a spreader bar attached beneath the long metal shaft connected to the motors, evidently designed to lock someone in by the ankles.

His imagination takes off too quickly for him to catch: Wooyoung, cradled by the bench, wrists and thighs strapped open while a machine fucks up into him from underneath; Wooyoung, spread out on his belly over a leather cushion, made to straddle it with his arms and legs bound while he’s fucked from behind; Wooyoung, on his knees, his upper half slumped to the floor but his knees braced apart as the machine pistons into him from behind.

San blinks. “What?”

“I was asking if you’d maybe want to use the spreader bar on me?” Wooyoung says, sounding shy. Shy.  

San thinks he's going to rip out his own hair. Would he maybe want to? Would he maybe want to strap Wooyoung's ankles apart and put his thighs over his shoulders and finally eat him out in peace?

Well, maybe that wasn’t the question, but. “Yeah. I’d want to,” he says past the dryness in his mouth. It takes every scrap of self control he owns to keep his eyes on Wooyoung and not on the benches that San would maybe like to fuck him in. “I want to if you want to. If you’d feel safer if I was the one holding you open, you know I like doing that just as much, too.”

“I know. But this way, it’d be— I’d— A spreader bar doesn’t have feelings, you know? It would just— It would keep holding me open, until we decide to take it off.”

Yeah. Yeah, it would.

“I… I want what you said, about— about being made to take it, even if I told you to stop because I couldn’t anymore. And if anything ever goes wrong, for either of us, we still have our safeword, right?”

Their safeword. It hadn’t been for sex at first, just a word they settled on during one of those early days when some conversations were still minefields that they didn’t always want to venture out into, and neither of them have even used it during sex, but it is there, and San knows that Wooyoung likes what he likes and is vocal about what he doesn’t. 

“I swear it’s really okay if you don’t want to though,” Wooyoung says quickly, cutting into his fog of thoughts. He’s standing up now, the tips of his ears visibly red. “I know it isn’t like anything we’ve used before, so—”

“No,” San says, reaching out for him. “No, I told you, I do wanna use it. On you, on me, any way you want.”

“You don’t have to say yes just because I brought it up, okay?”

“Wooyoung, I want to,” he tells him firmly. “I can’t believe you even need to ask me if I would want a way to eat you out better. I’m this close to getting you in it right now.”

“First off, that’s not sanitary,” Wooyoung says, but the fact that he doesn’t say no to being strapped down right there is a severe strain on San’s sanity. “And second, I just wanted to make sure, okay? You were, like, staring off into the distance for a while. I thought I finally scared you off. Or broke you.” 

“No, baby, I was just thinking. It's gonna take a lot more than that to scare me off.” San can’t help but ruffle through the back of his hair again. “You went from blushing to asking me if I wanted to use a spreader bar on you, that’s all. You’re lucky I didn’t need three business days to process that.”

“You’re such a dweeb sometimes,” Wooyoung tells him.

“Oh yeah? So what does that say about you?” San gives him a little smack on the hip, just to hear him squeak indignantly. He wraps his other arm around him too, unable to resist squeezing him. “We can ask about the bar." He lingers with a small hum, eyeing the display. "What do you think about the others, though?”

“Who?” Wooyoung says, trying to wriggle away.

San lets him wriggle enough to turn around, then pets his belly. “Not ‘who.’ Those.” He leans his chin on his shoulder lazily, angling Wooyoung towards the display. "You know, if you're interested in being fucked by something that wouldn't stop just for your puppy eyes."

“Oh.” He feels Wooyoung stop moving when his gaze lands on them, his hands pausing over San’s forearms wrapped around his stomach. “You mean the… Those things?”

“Think they’re officially called fucking machines.”

“Yeah, thank you for that, I can read.” Wooyoung squirms. “They’re cool?"

San stifles a chuckle into his shoulder. “Cool?”

“You know, I can feel you about to laugh at me. They’re cool.” Wooyoung smacks him lightly on the wrist, which San bears with a little hum until Wooyoung finally settles. “They’re hot, in theory.” 

“In theory? What about in practice?”

“I don’t know? I’ve never used one before.”

“Would you?”

He feels Wooyoung cheek shift a little. Maybe he’s pursing his lips under his mask. San watches him carefully, how he seems to consider the question earnestly even though he’s heating up a little again. “But what about you?”

So considerate. “You’d be the one riding it, so I’m more worried about what you think of it, baby.”

“Well, yeah, but.” Wooyoung cranes his neck over to look at him. “If...that’s fucking me, what are you going to do?”


“Oh.” Wooyoung swallows. “You’d be into that?”

“Watching you being made to take it like you want?” San questions. “Yeah, I’d be into that.”

“Oh. Hm.” Wooyoung clears his throat, sounding casual. “Then...yeah, I’d be into it too.” 

God, San wants to kiss him. “Which one do you like?”

He eyes them again, pretty sure about which one he likes the most, but he wonders if the store has any other models in stock if Wooyoung doesn’t like any of these. San wouldn’t want him to settle on one just because it's the only one they had in stock. There has to be other stores that sell them too, or maybe they can even look online—

“The middle one.”

San focuses his gaze back on the display. The two-piece one, the one with the leather bench and the fucking machine separate but poised behind it. “Yeah?”

“It looks the most comfortable,” Wooyoung says. “Y’know, if I’d be riding it all night. And the straps are padded, so that’d be nice.”

San manages not to groan against his neck. “Yep. Good point.” He pets his stomach again before he starts withdrawing his arms. “Let me go ask if they have it in stock.”

“Wait, wait, what?” As soon as he lets go of Wooyoung, Wooyoung is right there, fumbling for both of his arms. “What do you mean, if they have it in stock?”

“If...they have it in stock?” San clarifies, a little puzzled. 

“I didn’t— You said in theory!”

“But then I asked about in practice?”

“Well—!” Wooyoung looks so frazzled that it’s cute, and San brushes away a fringe of his hair that’s fallen over his forehead. “It’s— The price—”

“You can think of it like you were really investing in yourself when you bought my merch,” he tells him.

“That’s not how it works?” Wooyoung’s voice pitches a little bit too high before he seems to remember where they are, and he says, now in a whisper but no less insistent, “You’re not buying a sex machine!”

“Yet,” San agrees. “You have to let me get to the front counter to do that, baby.”

“San. San.” Wooyoung grabs him by the upper arms and shakes him, and San watches him through his wobbling vision, lips twitching behind his mask. “You don’t even have a proper apartment.”

“Yeah, so I’ll buy one too.”

“Rent. You mean rent an apartment, which is definitely going to take longer than just today.”

“Uh, no? I can do it right now.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s impossible t— No, put your phone away.”

“But I’m buying an— I’m renting an apartment! Like you said!”

“I didn’t say that! You’re not going to rent an apartment just so you can buy a- a— this.”

He exhales. “Fine, then we’ll just set it up in my penthouse.”

“We’re not installing a sex machine in the penthouse that you are also renting!”

“Why not? We’re not installing anything, it’s not like this needs to be drilled into the floor, does it?” He cranes his neck over the shelf between them and the counter, calling, “Excuse me, do these things need to be drilled into the floor?”

“Nope!” Sua calls back cheerfully. “Just needs a power source, and you’re good to go!”

“Just needs a power source, and we’re good to go,” he relays back to Wooyoung dutifully.

Wooyoung’s starting to look a little wild-eyed. San gives him a consoling pat on the head, even when Wooyoung proceeds to hiss, “So what are you going to do when you have to move out? Just tell your movers to wrap it up?”

“Well, first I’d disassemble it, but yeah? I’m not donating our sex machine to the hotel.”

“Our sex m— Okay. Okay. Hold on, I’m trying to process that we’re really discussing this, on a Thursday, at four in the afternoon.”

Should he have brought him here on the weekend or something? San nibbles on his bottom lip. So far, all he’s hearing is that Wooyoung is very thoughtfully concerned about where he’s going to put this sex machine, but he recalls plenty of space in his penthouse. “You can decide what to name it, if you want?” he offers.

Wooyoung actually half moans, half weeps into his chest. “I’m not going to name this sex machine that we don’t own because you are not buying it!”

“I can fix the two main things wrong with that sentence,” San assures him. “What about Byeol? I always wanted a cat named Byeol before tour life started kicking my ass. Why don’t you go see if there’s anything else you want while I ask the clerks to ring her up for us?”

“Did you just call— Goodbye.”

Wooyoung lets him buy the sex machine. Then, red-faced, he busies himself somewhere in the back with the other clerk while San brings up the basket to the register, where the one from before is all too happy to go over their warranty options and the extra benefits they could have if they signed up for a membership today.

“Do you get, like, a bonus if I sign up?” San asks.

Sua fumbles in the middle of scanning the fifth bottle of lube, looking a little flustered. “Uh, a little?”

“Then sure, sign me up. You can add the warranty too.” He fishes out his wallet, scowling at the way it flops open, the leather starting to fray apart, and makes a note to himself to finally replace it as he slips her his credit card. “Is there a way I could just get it delivered to where I’m staying? I think it’d be too much to carry up with everything else.”

“Oh, definitely! The same day delivery costs a little extra, but—”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“Sure thing.” She smiles, and it seems genuine enough, though he notices that she does hesitate a little. “I’d just need an address to deliver it to…? Both our delivery service and our packaging are discreet, so you wouldn’t need to worry about that.”

He almost snorts. Maybe if his fans saw him carrying around a sex machine, they’d finally stop comparing him to cinnamon rolls. “Sure, that sounds great. Could I have the rest of these delivered with it, too?”

“No problem at all,” Sua says busily as she punches in the last few buttons and swipes his card through the reader. Once the receipt starts printing, San sees her hesitate again, her gaze flickering first to him, then to somewhere behind him, just as he hears Wooyoung’s voice mid-conversation. He shifts in the same direction, forcing himself in her line of sight instead.

“Everything check out?” he hums.

“Oh! Yes, yes. Sorry.” She tears off the receipt and folds it around the card, but as she offers it back out to him, she hesitates again, biting her bottom lip.

San keeps his expression carefully neutral. Of course there’s always a catch.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, sir,” she begins, “but will you two be leaving together?”

“Is that going to be a problem?” he says evenly.

“Oh, no. No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just— Ah, my gi— My coworker and I, we saw someone across the street a little while ago with a camera. He was still there before you came up here, trying to hide between the bakery and the pizza place across the street. I thought you’d want to know.”

San purses his lips together tightly. “Just one?”

“That we could see, at least.”

“Mm. Thank you for letting me know, Sua-ssi, I can handle that.” He takes the receipt into his pocket but slides the card back over the counter. “Would you mind just using this for whatever else he decides to get? I’ll be back pretty quick. If he asks, I went to find a bathroom.”

She smiles. “Yes, of course.”

He smiles back, and it’s not as forced as it usually is. “Thanks.”

He tugs his hood up before he exits the shop.

The sun has disappeared behind the buildings outside, casting long shadows across the street. He spots the two shops across the road pretty easily. The street’s a little busier now, but he doesn’t have to wait long for the crosswalk to signal him across, and no one looks in his direction as he heads for the bakery sign.

With this much light out, the alley doesn’t put him off at all. It doesn’t even smell that rancid, filled with a mixture of scents from the pizza shop and the bakery, and there’s no movement when he takes the first step inside. There’s just the fire escapes and two dumpsters, one near him on the bakery’s side, and a second one further down on the pizza shop’s side.

San lands a swift kick against the dumpster, filling the air with a sharp bang.

“Shit!” He hears clattering and a few discarded cans roll across the ground from the second dumpster, and then a man comes stumbling out, cradling a camera protectively to his chest while he fights off something buzzing in the air.

The moment he sees San, he freezes.

Then he starts to move.

“Stop,” San says.

The man jerks to a stop, barreling into the corner of the dumpster. San sees him shaking with the effort to keep himself in place.

He lowers his mask, tucking it below his chin, and says again, “Stop.”

The man’s shaking stops.

There are a lot of things San wants to do. “Turn on your camera,” he says. “Delete every picture you took today. Look at me when you’re done.”

The man raises his camera and begins flicking through the menu, and San listens to the sounds of the camera beeping with each press, waiting until the man finally lifts his head and looks at him, eyes blank.

“Put the camera in the dumpster.”

That same fly buzzes circles in the air. More of them fly out when the man lifts the lid of the dumpster, but he doesn’t flinch, tossing the camera in and letting the lid drop.

“Now go home,” San tells him.

The man does just that.

San smooths his mask back over his face and walks out of the alley a few moments later, heading for the bakery. They look like they’re on their last products, but he manages to buy two cinnamon muffins and leaves an extra bill in the tip jar, before making his way back to the store.

“—would match great!”

Wooyoung looks up mid-conversation when the chime rings, eyes finding San’s quickly. “Oh, hey, there you are.” 

“Hey.” San returns to his side with the paper bag, sliding his hand over his back. He catches a glimpse of a small plastic bag in Wooyoung’s hands, right before Wooyoung notices him staring and moves it away from his line of sight. San quirks an eyebrow, but he says nothing.

“Are you sure you still wanna go to the mall? You look a little tired,” Wooyoung says.

“I’m fine. I grabbed some muffins if you’re hungry, though. Figure we can get something real to eat at the food court later.”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up. “What kind?”

“Oh, you’ll have to go back there earlier in the morning,” one of the clerks, the one San hadn’t spoken to yet, says to Wooyoung enthusiastically. “Their chocolate chip muffins are killer.”

“Chocolate chip’s nice, but cinnamon muffins are underrated,” Wooyoung says, grinning. He looks a lot more at ease now, and San strokes his thumb over his hip to satisfy the urge to kiss his temple. 

“Here you go, sir.” Sua smiles as she passes the card back to him, noticeably without a receipt, and then her smile takes on a note of, I tried.

San bites back an amused laugh and shakes his head, a silent, Yeah, I figured.  

“What’d you get?” Wooyoung insists, reaching for the bag.

“Wait until the car,” San says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Wooyoung says, and then he grabs the bag anyway. At the sight of Wooyoung’s face brightening at the muffins, San allows the relief to finally wash over him.

On their way back to the parking lot, the plastic bag hangs around the crook of Wooyoung’s elbow, betraying the vague shape of a small box. San tells him again and again to show him, and Wooyoung sounds more and more gleeful each time he says no, and by the time they’re back in the car, San’s been reassured enough that when he reaches over to finally drag Wooyoung in for a kiss, he’s sure that Wooyoung meets him halfway.

Chapter Text

San’s going to be the death of him—of that, Wooyoung’s sure. The bastard just cruises them through the streets and recounts the last time he apparently went shopping with Yunho while Wooyoung has to sit there with the knowledge that San— that they just bought a—

Well. The fact itself isn’t so bad, maybe. If he thinks hard enough about it, he’s actually not too surprised to find out that San is exactly the kind of unhinged fucker to buy a sex machine like an item off a Sunday grocery list, and yeah, maybe he’s jacked off to one or two videos of someone strapped down in one before and fantasized about what it would be like to be the one being held down and fucked for hours instead, so the whole concept of it? Maybe not entirely out of line with who they were.

But. But.

San really bought it, and it’s really going to be delivered tonight, and he has a feeling it won’t just be assembled for show. They’re going to use it. He’s—

Wooyoung’s stomach flutters at the thought. They’re going to use it, and he’s going to be laid over that plush leather bench, and San’s going to strap his arms and thighs down, and then he’s going to be— it’s going to—

“—thing like the shops here, though. And it smelled like mold, so that didn’t last long,” San is saying.

Wooyoung’s knee had started bouncing a few minutes ago and still hasn’t stopped, but he hopes he looks casual enough that San will continue not to notice. “That sucks,” he says, even though he’s sort of lost what San is saying. He’s trying to pay attention, but most of his thoughts are still hitching like a broken record on those promises San had made in the shop, and it’s kind of hard to ignore the sex-machine-shaped elephant in the room.

Unless he was San, apparently, because San just keeps chattering while Wooyoung tries to keep his mind from melting between his fingers.

It’s not even out of shame. Maybe it’d be easier to deal with if it was shame, but no, he’s fucking— he’s looking forward to it, and that’s just. It’s—

“You feeling carsick or something?” San’s question wedges into his train of thought, effectively derailing it as he sits up quickly and tries to school his expression back into neutrality.

“No, I was just thinking,” he says. “Like I realized that I seriously don’t remember if I left the stove on at the apartment.”

That makes San chuckle. Wooyoung thinks he should get an award for thinking of that on the spot and getting a laugh out of San. “I’m pretty sure we would’ve heard from your roommates by now if they had to put out a fire.”

“You’re overestimating them,” Wooyoung tells him. “I’m the only one that knows how to use a fire extinguisher between the three of us.”

“Cool, so you can teach me.”

Wooyoung snorts. “Sure, I’ll add that to our to-do list.”

“We have a to-do list, huh?” San says.

“Yep.” He pops another piece of the muffin into his mouth. “First thing on it is teaching you how to touch a kitchen without setting anything on fire to begin with.”

“We’ll see about that,” San says, mysteriously.

Wooyoung’s about to tell him that that’s not what he’s supposed to say when San finally makes a turn into the mall parking lot, and he sees considerably more people milling around.

“Wow, it looks way busier here.” He leans forward in his seat as San maneuvers them to one of the side lots instead, but even there it’s pretty packed, no free spot in sight until a solid few rows down.

“We can be quick,” San says, not sounding too thrilled about it either.

“Are you sure? We could go somewhere smaller if you want.”

“Nah, I haven’t gotten the chance to go to a mall like this in years, I’m not backing out now. I don’t care if they recognize me.” San sounds resigned to it. “I should be asking you if you still wanna go in there with me. Doesn’t matter if they recognize you or not, they’ll still say all kinds of shit.”

“Well, you know I’ve already had practice with that too,” Wooyoung says with a little shrug. “So if you don’t mind whatever they might say about us, I don’t really care either.”

San returns the shrug, though Wooyoung notices that he keeps his eyes on the road when he agrees, “I don’t. Looks like we’re on the same page.”

Wooyoung makes a little noise against the window as San finally eases the car into a spot and kills the engine. He never really thought about all the things San probably wasn’t able to do in the last few years; now he wishes there was a way to magick all the people away so San wouldn’t have to worry about anything. He thinks that these headlines will be a little nicer, maybe, if they can’t reasonably pass him off as a mystery girlfriend. Maybe he’ll get a nice, boring label like good friend of Choi San’s, not a good friend of Choi San’s who just spent the afternoon in a sex shop with him. Or maybe he’d be able to get away with the second one too as long as he didn’t look like a girlfriend. People were weird.

“Okay, last bite,” he sighs, turning to San with the muffin liner cradled in his hands. That lady was right, they do need to go back to that bakery sometime in the morning, because these were possibly the best muffins he’s had in a long time. He didn’t even complain earlier, when San made him feed him during the red lights. 

He holds the last bit of it up to San, waiting for him to turn to him, but San shakes his head and says, “No, you can have it.”

Wooyoung tilts his head. “Okay. Come here? You’ve got some on your mouth.”

San turns to him with a little frown. “How bad?” he asks, but he leans forward anyway. 

As soon he’s close enough, Wooyoung pushes the bit of the muffin right past his lips and into his mouth, snickering when it earns him a comically wide-eyed look from San. The look’s gone in an instant, replaced by a scowl as San starts to chew, but Wooyoung’s already had his satisfaction. “That’s what you get for buying a sex machine and signing up for their loyalty program,” he tells him.

“You liked it,” San says, muffled.

Wooyoung supposes he can’t deny that, so he opts to tug his mask back over his face instead of replying. San seems content to do the same instead of planning some kind of retribution, but Wooyoung does eye him warily until they both finally climb out of the car and start heading towards the entrance together.

“You sure you shouldn’t have signed up for their loyalty program?” San says pointedly.

Wooyoung glances down at where he’s looking. Oh, San’s probably talking about the bag still looped around the bend of his arm. Wooyoung gives him a casual little shrug, even when San wraps a loose arm over his shoulders. “Someone once broke into Jongho’s car to steal his football shoes just ‘cause they were out in plain sight. This was expensive and I’m not taking my chances.”

“Wow. You sure you’re not the wise, jaded one here instead?” San says.

“You’re jaded enough for the both of us.”

“We can both be jaded. I think there’s a rule about misery loving company.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Who said I lo—”

San tugs him back just before he barrels straight into a car’s path, and the suddenness of it is definitely enough to excuse the new prickling in his cheeks. “Careful,” San hums. Wooyoung can feel him rubbing his thumb into his shoulder, the way he’s been doing on his back and on his hip all day, and he can feel himself reacting to it also the way he’s been doing all day. What a pain.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but at least it looks like San’s forgotten that he was supposed to say something.

Most of the crowd looks on the younger side, probably high schoolers who’d just gotten off of school. They pass a few of them gathered in little pockets, the sounds of their voices bringing on a twinge of nostalgia. He remembers meeting up with San here too, the way they’d done it more often after they graduated—usually to grab something greasy that couldn’t normally be found on an upscale buffet table, or sometimes to spend way too much just trying to win a cheap stuffed animal at the arcade, or sometimes to mix absurd slushie flavors at the in-house movie theater and then spend the entire movie ignoring it in favor of dipping between San’s legs, buzzing with the thrill of finding San in the dark and taking his—

Okay, yeah, he shouldn’t be thinking about that.

“When you said you were gonna go shopping, I didn’t think you meant here,” he comments for the sake of saying something. He’s hoping it’ll rewire his thoughts so that they don’t all just keep funneling into oh my god we bought a— “Like, I’m surprised you still remember this place.”

“I was gone five years, not five decades,” San says, clicking his tongue. “This is less suspicious than going somewhere flashy. Also, how was I supposed to forget how obsessed you were with those stupid little fish cakes from the food court?”

“They’re not stupid, and I wasn’t obsessed.” Horribly offended, Wooyoung digs two fingers into his side. San crumples a little with a grunt, but he doesn’t let go of him, and Wooyoung realizes that San would probably just take him down with him.

“Yeah, you were, and you used to fuckin’ rip them apart—head, body, tail, then take turns taking bites out of each section. Honestly, I should’ve known that was a sign.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow into slits. “A sign of what?”

San sighs like he’s reminiscing about the good old days. “That you were a freak like me.”

“Oh my god, shut up."

“Tell me I’m wrong,” San says, and Wooyoung groans and dislodges his arm from around his shoulder so he can drag him along instead.

“Just tell me where you’re gonna buy your clothes already.”

“Why?” When he glances back, San’s got that amused look on his face, the one that dredges up familiar urges to either shake or kiss it off of him, made ten times worse when San feigns a pout. “Planning to drop me off then ditch me, Youngie?”

It’s remarkable how quickly he’s slipped back into old habits. “If you don’t pick, I’m going to leave you at an H&M.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat? I’m sure I can still find something to impress you.”

Ugh. He probably can, and he’d probably make it look like a designer brand, because that’s just the way he’s built, molded and freed right out of Wooyoung’s worst dreams to make his life hell. Wooyoung doesn’t know what he means by impressing him though, like San isn’t the literal celebrity here.

He can hear San chuckling faintly, so he seizes his hand grimly and walks them to one of the most generic-looking department stores he can find. The entrance is lined with glittering displays of cologne, and Wooyoung completely intends to leave him by a giant cardboard cutout of Kim Junmyeon when San catches him by the hand.

“You’re not really gonna leave me, are you? I need help.”

“You have two hands,” Wooyoung points out.

“You have two more,” San points out too.

“I—” How could he ever forget? San’s stubbornness can really merit its own hardness scale. “I’m not helping you put anything on,” he relents, allowing himself to be dragged under the bright, showy lights.

“We’ll see about that,” San says, and he’s smirking, and Wooyoung is starting to feel like he’s just made another mistake.


- ♮ -


He’s made another mistake. 

He realizes it sometime after the second outfit San tries on. It’s like he’s eighteen and starstruck again, fighting not to stare openly at Choi San as soon as he enters the room, except there’s nowhere else to look here.

And San, the fucker, seems to know exactly the effect he’s having on him.

Wooyoung can’t even focus on hating him because he’s just as busy hating himself. Stupid Choi San. It loops around his brain like the last thread holding his sanity together. This stupid store too. Why do they sell so many skinny jeans? Why did they decide to put all their best ones out? Why did they make them so easily accessible for San to find?

When his phone chimes with a notification, he’s honestly relieved to have an excuse to look away from San’s legs, because— God.

He doesn’t quite expect the notification that he sees, though.


CONTACT: Jongho, Mingi, Sannie… (+4 others)

Unknown number has added you and 2 others.

Unknown number: did that work?

Unknown number: YAY

Mingi: wtf you didn’t say hongjoong hyung was here

Mingi: let me OUT

Hongjoong: what was that mingi :)?

Unknown number: Can you please put a nose on that face

Unknown number: It’s so disturbing

Yeosang: yunho was this necessary. like  do u really have to do this to them

Unknown number: look i just heard we’re all going out together tomorrow so

Unknown number: i’m here to offer my ride services to mingi & friends if they need a lift to the club :D

Yeosang: dont do it hes a shitty driver

Unknown number: HEY

Unknown number: hyung FIGHT BACK!

Unknown number: But he insulted you? Why would I fight back

Unknown number: boyfriends are supposed to fight for each other

Yeosang: goodbye


“San-ah? Are these your friends?”

“What?” San glances at him through the mirror he’s standing in front of. He’s in the middle of adjusting the latest leather jacket he’s trying on. Beneath it, he’s wearing a crimson button-up, attractively rumpled, dividing Wooyoung heavily between fixing his shirt or rumpling it worse. “Are you texting?”

“I’m still paying attention,” Wooyoung protests, hugging his phone to his chest. “I told you, I like this shirt, but the whole outfit looks more like it’s for an afterparty, not a club.”

It seems to convince San enough. “I guess you’re right.”

“My favorite thing to hear,” Wooyoung says to no one in particular.

San clicks his tongue. “I have one left to try. Stay there.”

Stay there, Wooyoung mocks silently to himself, as if San hasn’t been pulling every trick in the book to render his legs useless. “Don’t forget the one I picked out,” he huffs, lifting his phone again as San slips back through the stall’s curtains. “You might wanna check your messages too!”

Once San is inside again, Wooyoung sits up where he’s slung himself sideways in one of the waiting chairs, figuring he can sneak a look before San comes back out. He really needs the break from the mental and emotional strain of having to sit there and pretend to be, like, fine while San drifted in and out of the stall wearing all kinds of tests on his self control.

This is going to be San’s fifth outfit or something, and so far, they’ve all confirmed his hypothesis that San could make a white cotton shirt somehow look fit for a club. He really will never go shopping with San again if it’s going to be this awful every time, and if San is going to keep fucking smirking at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Wooyoung should have known. All of that sweet talk about spoiling him—San really just wants to drive him insane, he’s sure of it.

Another ping from his phone catches his attention. Thank god, he thinks as he swipes his messages open again. His jacket’s been getting warmer, and he’s pretty sure it’s not just the dressing room. At least no one’s joined them yet and he can suffer in peace.

The latest message is from one of the unknown numbers again. Wooyoung scrolls through the list of members and finds two that he doesn’t have saved in his contacts yet, although it doesn’t take a lot of guesswork to figure out who they are.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears San groan from the stall, maybe finally looking at his phone now too. “This is exactly what I told them not to do.”

“It’s kinda cute, though,” Wooyoung says.

“Cute,” he hears San huff. “Ignore them. I’m not responsible for whatever they say.”


CONTACT: Jongho, Mingi, Sannie… (+4 others)

Seonghwa: Oh is that what you meant to say the other night when Yeosang was beating me at street fighter and you just laughed the whole time?

Yunho: but like… weren’t even fighting back. for YOURSELF

Jongho: i hate to agree with yunho hyung but yeah that was sad

Yunho: why do you hate to agree w me :(

Seonghwa: I’m quitting this band

Yeosang: haha

Hongjoong: seconding that yunho’s a horrible driver. I can take four people in my car if anyone wants to come with me instead

Yunho: can you all stop trying to steal my clients

Yeosang: san has a ride too but hes also a barely functional driver so

Seonghwa: That’s also assuming he remembers how to get out of his own hotel anymore

Mingi: he got in and out of here earlier just fine tho

Seonghwa: ???

Yunho: WHAT you guys hung out without me?

Sannie: stfu im shopping

Seonghwa: Oh good you’re alive




He pauses his snickering to look up from his phone, realizing that the curtain’s been drawn aside again and San’s been calling him a few times now. “What?” he says, and then he stops.

“It’s the one you picked out,” San says, in the middle of tucking his phone into one of his back pockets, and he looks far too casual for the violent short circuiting he suddenly causes between Wooyoung’s synapses. “What do you think?”

What does he think? What does he think?

The mannequin hadn’t done justice to the shirt at all. It’s a silk button-up, the reason Wooyoung had chosen it, the dark material catching the dressing room lights and highlighting the white splatter patterns dripping all over it. The collar falls loose below San’s neck, the topmost two buttons undone, but San’s paired it with a fitted, silver-speckled vest, buttoned all the way to accentuate his tiny fucking waist. The shirt’s been tucked into a pair of dark skinny jeans to match, and Wooyoung can’t even make fun of San’s mismatched blue and green socks being visible where he never put his boots back on because Wooyoung’s not sure he remembers enough words to do that.

“Still with me, baby?”

San’s smirking. Because he’s a bastard. A smug, unbearable, really hot—

—bastard, who is currently walking closer to Wooyoung’s chair.

Wooyoung sits up a little too quickly, his phone almost sliding off of his stomach. By the time he thinks to right himself in the chair, San is already too close, close enough that Wooyoung can see the buttons of his vest fucking straining over his chest. Wooyoung maybe wants to rip it off of him.

Oh, god. Is this really what he’s come to? It is, isn’t it? He’s never, never, never going shopping with San again. Never.

San puts a hand on his hair. Wooyoung’s jaw is starting to ache from the cumulative amount of time he’s spent gritting his teeth today. It’s like San woke up that morning and decided he was going to catch up on the five years’ worth of torment he could have inflicted on him in a single day.

“This one was your pick, Young-ah,” San reminds him lightly. “At least tell me what you think.”

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung gets out.


“It looks good,” he says. “Unsurprising, ‘cause I picked it.”

“Mm.” Despite his words, San’s the one who looks so smug, so gleeful. Wooyoung raises a hand to push him away by the stomach, but San swiftly catches him, holding his arm up and away. “Did I say you could touch me?”

So he’s in one of those moods. “You didn’t say I couldn’t,” Wooyoung challenges.

“This is me saying it now, then. Maybe if you’d paid better attention.” San releases his hand to start walking back towards the stall, and it takes every ounce of Wooyoung’s willpower not to swat at his ass just to spite him. “I have one last thing I want to try on. Be good and wait for me.”

Naturally, then, Wooyoung gets up and walks out as soon as San closes the stall. He’d be amazed by how quickly San can get under his skin if he hadn’t become well-acquainted with that fact even before the first time he ended up in San’s bed. He hates that San seems to know, too. He hates that San can always read him like an open book, and that San always wins, and that he finds himself wanting San to.

But it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know his way under San’s skin either. Maybe he doubted it before, but San’s been just as honest too—Wooyoung’s seen how San has been looking at him all day, how he looked at him last night, even when he didn’t exactly look runway-ready. Maybe he’s not the only hopeless one here. Maybe—

There’s a second rack of those silk button-ups that he didn’t see earlier, one of them a distinct shade of red that immediately catches his eye.

No, he realizes when he comes close enough to take hold of one’s sleeve, it’s not a second rack after all—these are satin, not silk, and he still knows how to tell by the way it remains cool to touch even after he rubs the material firmly between two fingers. He picks out the one that caught his attention in the first place, a striking maroon top that seems to spill like liquid fire from its hanger. It’s loose, pretty, exactly the kind of material he likes to feel on his skin, and it strikes him at that moment that the hanger isn’t going to be the best place to appraise this shirt from.

Grim, he brings it back to the dressing room with him.

San wants to play like this? Fine.

There’s another stall occupied now, but the one next to San’s is still empty, and he wordlessly claims it for himself. He carefully sets the plastic bag down on the corner seat and hangs up the shirt, then assess himself in the mirror.

He tugs his mask off. Runs a hand through his hair. He hadn’t exactly styled it before they left, figuring it’d be shoved under a hood for majority of the day anyway. His outfit suffered the same fate, style sacrificed for comfort. Still, once he slips off his jacket and shirt and catches another glimpse of himself in the mirror, he thinks he can make this work.

Next door, he can hear San unbuckling his belt. He takes the opportunity to reach for the bag and the small box inside, the rustle of plastic sounding out in tandem with the soft shuffling from San’s side. He lifts the lid to reveal something that had caught his eye while San was at the counter earlier—a thin chain choker with a simple ring at the center, meant to rest over the hollow of one’s throat.

He draws it out, and the rest of it follows, all delicate silver twinkling in the light.

Wooyoung smirks.

It’s easy to slip on. He hears San opening the stall again just as he finishes adjusting the extra pieces in place, biting back a soft exhale at the sensation. He hears San’s, “Wooyoung-ah?” just as he slips the shirt over his shoulders.

He pauses, hands hovering over the first pair of buttons he’d just done up, and listens for the distinct sound of San’s footsteps on the dressing room floor. The situation brings about a wave of deja vu, but this time, he’s not trying to hide.

“In here,” he calls.

The curtain stops high enough off the floor for him to see San’s shadow and the tips of his boots come into view. A second shadow moves past him, maybe that other patron finally leaving. Wooyoung purses his lips, watching how San pauses there before calling back, voice light, “What are you doing?”

“Trying something on,” he replies.

San’s shadow shifts. Wavers. Wooyoung can practically hear him calculating through the curtain. 

A soft clatter from a few stalls down reminds him that they aren’t alone anymore, and he bites back a pleased smile, hands falling away from his shirt. One button should be enough. “You wanna see?” he says loftily. He can give San his input on his outfit while San gives him some on his, and who knows? Maybe San will still impress him more than he thinks he’ll impress him.

There’s a slight shift from the curtains, maybe from San reaching for it, but he’s starting to take too long and Wooyoung never really learned patience, so he simply reaches for the curtain and slides it open for him.

Skin. Skin and leather, that’s all his mind is suddenly full of, because San has ditched the skinny jeans in favor of the tightest-looking pair of leather pants that Wooyoung’s ever seen and the shirt he’d picked out in favor of—nothing. San is standing there, the vest hanging loosely over his bare shoulders, the open halves of it framing the definition of his chest and allowing Wooyoung a glimpse of his pierced nipples again, the barbels glinting wickedly in the light.

“What the fuck is that?” 

His mouth’s open, but it’s San who speaks first, his words low and sharp behind his face mask. Suddenly, the curtain’s being yanked shut again, except San now crowds his way into the stall with him where there’s just barely enough room to fit them both. There’s enough space between his heels and the mirror for him to take a step back, but he has a feeling that’s exactly what San wants him to do, so he stays where he is, tilting his head up the slightest bit it takes to meet San’s eyes.

“These weren’t meant for two people,” he chides.

San makes a sound of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t actually do anything about it. No, he just rests his hands on Wooyoung’s shoulders, light, his thumbs brushing over his collarbones. Wooyoung schools back a pleased smile when he sees his gaze riveted on the delicate chain around his neck, only to wander lower a moment later.

He knows what San is looking at: the choker that fits snugly around his throat, held in place by that thin, hollow circle, and the other unique parts of it—the fine twin chains hooked to the bottom of the circle, hanging loosely down his chest before disappearing below the satin shirt.

“It’s pretty,” San murmurs. Wooyoung can feel him stroking closer to the circle, the pad of his thumb warm against his collarbone, but as he expected, San seems aware of where they are and doesn’t let his hand wander any farther.

“I was thinking of wearing it tomorrow,” he hums.

San’s eyes flicker up for a moment. “Yeah? Feel like looking pretty, baby?”

“I’m always pretty,” Wooyoung says, which earns him a chuckle.

“You are,” San allows.

Sometimes when he says things like that, Wooyoung’s gut kicks up in ways that he can’t just blame on San’s attractiveness. He never knows how to handle it—it’s always so foreign, a far cry from the filthy, stinging words he likes to hear when San has him cornered like this. It’s a wonder how San can say it so easily, his gaze remaining even, if not becoming heavier.

San must think he’s easy. Sometimes Wooyoung likes to be, yes—but this time, when he feels San’s hand shift closer to his throat, thumb brushing over that circle, he makes a little noise of refusal and catches him by the wrist.

“San-ah,” he calls, waiting for San to look up at him again. “You said no touching.”

“You can touch me,” San says, so swiftly that Wooyoung snickers. 

“That was easy,” he muses, using this new privilege he’d been so graciously granted to ease both of San’s hands off of him. “I still don’t want you to touch me, though.”

San glances up at him again. He’s starting to look huffy, and Wooyoung has to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh at him again, because no matter what names San has for him in his arsenal, he’s just as easy to rile up.

That doesn’t mean he’s done showing off, though.

“Baby,” he teases, almost sing-songing with it. “Do you wanna see the rest of it?”

San’s gaze becomes sharp, and Wooyoung can practically feel him asking, The rest of it? God, now he knows why San gets such a kick out of this.

“Watch,” is all he tells him. Then he takes that little step back, shoulderblades brushing against the mirror, and reaches up to undo the single button holding the shirt together. The fine satin falls away, not quite baring his entire chest yet but revealing enough of it for San to see how the twin chains don’t simply hanging from his neck, but curve upwards, suspended by something still hidden beneath the shirt.

“Wooyoung,” San says lowly, closing the distance easily and bracing his hands on either sides of Wooyoung’s head. If it’s supposed to be a warning, Wooyoung doesn’t feel all that urged by it, leaning back against the mirror and smiling languidly up at him as he ghosts a hand over his own stomach. He can feel the intensity of San’s gaze as he follows every little moment, looking like he wants to devour him, and Wooyoung fucking revels in it.

“Sorry, San. I couldn’t hear you that well,” he says blithely, reaching up to untuck the straps of San’s mask from his ears. San’s jaw goes rigid with tension when he lingers longer than necessary, ghosting his fingers over his pretty cheekbones. “What were you saying?”

“Is this how you want to do it?” San’s eyes are trained on him, unwavering. Despite the clear signs of him being flustered, there’s nothing uncertain or shy about his gaze, pinning Wooyoung right in place.

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Who says we’re going to do anything?”

He tosses the mask onto his pile of clothes on the bench before easing back again, but the movement causes the shirt to brush more firmly over his chest now that it’s loose and he can’t keep himself from giving a soft, airy sigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” San whispers, and Wooyoung knows the moment the shirt dips too wide open and San sees exactly where the chains are hanging from because San suddenly surges forward, dipping his head low until Wooyoung can feel his warm puffs of breath over his exposed collar.

“What do you think?” he hums, reaching for San’s neck now, letting the shirt ruck open wider to reveal the delicate silver chains tucked snugly around his nipples, weighed lightly down by decorative little rings that match the one on his neck. Not quite the piercings he wants yet, but they sure as hell make him as sensitive as he imagines real ones would, his nipples already hard just from brushing against the fabric.

“What do I think,” San mutters harshly, and Wooyoung can feel his hands by his head, clenching into fists. “Wanna touch you, that’s what I think.”

“Not so loud,” Wooyoung says softly, giving him a sympathetic kiss to his temple. He can practically feel San thumming against him, a bundle of potential energy waiting for a catalyst.

Waiting for Wooyoung.

The power makes him feel dizzy.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.” He leans back to catch San’s eye. There’s a flush creeping into San’s cheeks already, and Wooyoung maps it with a soft touch all the way down his neck to his chest, pushing past the loose flaps of his vest to rest his palm broadly over San’s abdomen. He doesn’t give San too much, drawing his hands back to before long and resuming his lazy trail over his own chest.

He watches San bite at his lip piercing. One of San’s hands drifts downwards, brushing against the satin hanging by his hip. “Wooyoung.”

At that, Wooyoung lands a swift slap on his wrist. “Nicely.”

The slap rings out in the air, and a new fury sparks in San’s eyes, bright enough to finally make Wooyoung shiver in anticipation. “Young-ah,” San says, the words close to a growl, “can I touch you.”

Wooyoung licks his lips. Weighs his options, tips the scales. “Say please.”

San’s eyes are murderous. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Hmm.” Wooyoung drags the moment out with an indulgent tweak of his own nipple, sighing freely despite San’s apparent intent to stare holes into his chest. He licks his lips again, tempted to let his eyes slip shut at a particularly sweet brush of his fingers.


“Mhmm, Sannie, don’t worry. Haven’t forgotten about you,” he murmurs, easing one of San’s hands off of the mirror. He wedges his fingers into the tight curl of San’s fist, coaxing them open and bringing them to his own mouth, taking two of San’s fingers shallowly into his mouth. San’s hands aren’t the biggest he’s had, but like this, the digits feel satisfyingly solid between his lips. San could make him gag on them too, but he has something else in mind today, guiding San’s hand down to one of his nipples.

The moment his damp fingertips brush over the nub, he shudders, the light pressure from the chain heightening the lightest of sensations. He swears that San shudders too, dropping his head lower into his shoulder to muffle a groan, even as he lets Wooyoung keep moving his hand for him, rolling his nipple between damp digits.

“Have to be quiet,” Wooyoung reminds him absently, tilting his head back into the mirror with a satisfying arch of his chest. “Mm, come on, San-ah. Be good for me.”

“Keep fucking talking, Wooyoung,” San growls, giving his nipple a sudden, rough squeeze, and Wooyoung just barely bites back a keen. “Go on, see where it’ll get you.”

Wooyoung pants, San’s words sounding an awful lot like the promises he likes. “What do you mean, where? I’m going home right after this.” Then he reaches down, palming San’s dick through those fucking leather pants, and laughs breathlessly when he finds him just as hard as he expected. “I can see what it’s getting me, though.”

San clamps a hand around his wrist, a white-knuckled grip that sufficiently keeps Wooyoung from moving. “Don’t,” he grits out, “start what you can’t finish.”

“Oh, you wanna talk about not finishing things you start? When you’ve been starting shit all day?” Wooyoung hisses. He twists his hand out of San’s hold and palms his dick again, this time giving him a firm squeeze, and San snarls and pushes forward, caging him against the mirror.

“What, Young-ah? You wanted me to do something back there?” San isn’t touching him, not anywhere Wooyoung isn’t already, his voice harsh over his ear as he grinds shamelessly into Wooyoung’s hand. “Do you have any fucking idea how hard it was not to get you on your knees right there and try everything on you, huh? How many times I looked at something and thought about how fast I could get you squirming on it?”

“Must’ve been so hard,” he gets out, curling his fingers around the unmistakable shape of San’s length despite the low sound of warning San gives him, because what did that have to do with everything that came after? With how hellbent San has been on driving him out of his mind, even after they left? “Poor Sannie,” he simpers, angling his wrist upwards so he can slide his hand over San’s dick in imitation of a stroke, “always growling and gnashing his teeth but can’t take it when someone teases him back.”

San shoves him up against the mirror. Wooyoung feels his back hit it with one breathy gasp, too clouded by want to complain about San touching him without permission. 

San noses into his neck, mouth brushing over the thin choker. His hands have reclaimed their habitual spot on Wooyoung’s hips, and Wooyoung can’t decide if he’s impressed or frustrated that San manages to keep them there. “You should be grateful that bench won’t be set up when we get back.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “Can’t handle me yourself, so you have to let a machine do your work?” 

“Who said anything about the machine?” San sneers, fingers digging in so tightly that Wooyoung thinks he’s leaving bruises. “What makes you think I won’t just strap you down so I can finally fuck you how I want?”


“Gonna break that bench in myself. Get you wet and drooling on it first,” San sinks his teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder, hard, “fill you up before I let it fuck that machine all out of you. So yeah, go ahead, Youngie. Have your fun today, hm? This little power trip’s cute.” San grinds in again, all but fucking Wooyoung’s hand through the leather. “Tomorrow you’ll make it up to me by letting me watch you get fucked like a stupid little whore.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together tightly, a vain attempt to keep his breathing in control. San’s hands suddenly don’t seem too bad, because if he thinks he lets go of him now he’s just going to drop.

“Where’d that confidence go?” San says, giving him a little shove. “Come on, Wooyoung. Weren’t you gonna tell me what I can and can’t do?”

Wooyoung watches him, infuriated. San isn’t smirking, isn’t smiling, but that smugness comes across just fine through his voice. “Mouth,” he says, swallowing down the dryness in his throat. “Use your mouth.”

San drops to his knees, but somehow it doesn’t feel like a victory, not with the way San nudges his legs apart with two insistent hands running up his thighs. San is efficient, undoing his pants easily and tugging it off with his boxers all the way. He’s hard and aching despite San’s words — or, more likely, because of San’s words — and San wastes no time wrapping a hand around it, commenting, “Cute.”

Fuck him too.

Wooyoung glances towards the heavy curtain separating them from the rest of the store, and maybe he didn’t think this through, maybe he isn’t thinking at all, maybe this is really how his exhibitionist streak’s finally going to bite him in the ass—

But then San spits on his cock and starts jerking him off with long, rough strokes, and none of it really matters. Wooyoung jams his first knuckle between his teeth to keep a whimper at bay, wanting to remind him that he said mouth, not your hand, but he doesn’t think he could say it quietly enough or even finish saying it at all, not without dissolving into moans at the slick slide of San’s hand.

“Better keep quiet,” San tells him, maybe reading his mind.

Wooyoung grits his teeth and nudges him in the shoulder.

For that, San hauls his thigh over his shoulder and swallows him down.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes around his knuckle, his head falling back against the mirror with a dull. Thank god it’s screwed on to the wall or something, because his remaining leg buckles and almost drags him down to the floor. San doesn’t seem concerned about it, pulling off with a wet gasp before he’s taking him in again like he doesn’t have a gag reflex.

San sucks dick like how Wooyoung knows he does most things: putting every bit of himself into it without a trace of shame. His tongue piercing doesn’t completely surprise Wooyoung this time when he deliberately budges it against Wooyoung’s tip, but the lip piercing’s new, dragging along the underside of Wooyoung’s cock as San bobs his head studiously, working up to a relentless pace that has Wooyoung’s stomach twisting.

“San,” he whispers, the loudest he has the guts to go, but god, with the way San’s sucking and licking so fucking noisily, it feels almost pointless to try and stay quiet. There’s no way anyone would walk in here without knowing exactly what they were doing.

San pulls off, replacing his hand with his mouth again, tucking at the underside of his cock. “Taste so good, baby,” he murmurs, gaze trained upwards as his hand speeds up over Wooyoung’s cock. “So fucking filthy. Couldn’t even wait ‘til the car, you just had to get it right here?”

Wooyoung’s somewhere in the air. He feels like there should be stars floating around his head from how good San feels like this, how good he looks watching Wooyoung with that sharp, decisive gaze.

“Gonna cum like this, Wooyoungie?” he taunts.

Wooyoung rolls his hips forward, taking satisfaction in the way his cock accidentally grazes San’s cheekbone and makes San’s eyes fall darker. “Maybe,” he pants, “if you just shut up and kept going.” 

San raises a brow. Somehow, between Wooyoung’s legs, he still manages to look imperious. “Don’t say you didn’t ask for it,” he says, before he’s swallowing Wooyoung down again, this time going, going, until Wooyoung’s mouth’s falling open in a soundless gasp of surprise when San deepthroats him in one go.

“Fuck,” San rasps when he draws back for breath, and then he’s sinking back down again, and Wooyoung buckles against the mirror as San starts moving his head shallowly, never letting more than half of Wooyoung’s cock leave his mouth before pushing back in again. 

“S- San—”

San’s hand tightens around the soft flesh of his thigh, red blooming beneath the indents of his fingers, a sweet counterpoint to the wet heat of his mouth. One knuckle becomes two, until Wooyoung practically has his fingers stuffed into his mouth from trying not to make a sound while San seems to make it his mission to suck his soul out through his dick. He arches his hips into it, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head when he feels and hears San gag on it.

“Close,” he chokes out, digging his heel into San’s back in a desperate bid to warn him. “Gonna— San—”

San gives his thigh a harsh squeeze, his pace never letting up, and it’s when he takes Wooyoung all the way down in his throat without warning again that the cord snaps and Wooyoung’s orgasm cuts into him, blotting out the world for one gorgeous second.

The butchered syllable of San’s name falls out of his mouth as his cock pulses, and he swears that San hums around him on purpose, drawing little jolts out of his hips. He’s trying so hard not to move, but San’s making it difficult.

“San,” he stammers, burying a hand in San’s hair in an attempt to push him off so San doesn’t choke, but San just bears his thigh down harder and hums again, more insistently, making Wooyoung cry out at the ripples of pleasure it sends too soon down his softening cock. 

It soon becomes clear that San has no fucking intention of pulling off, because he just stays there, swallowing and suckling and working his tongue beneath Wooyoung’s length as his orgasm ebbs and a familiar burn starts to take its place. Wooyoung startles at the first stab of oversensitivity, bucking his hips, trying to get away.

San holds on fast.

“No,” he gasps when he realizes San really doesn’t intend to take his tighthotwarmwet mouth off of him, “no, nonono, off, off—” He fists both hands in San’s hair and trying to tug, to push him away, to bring him closer, he doesn’t know, his cock is so sensitive that it hurts but it feels so good—

San finally, finally releases him with a ragged gasp, and Wooyoung almost bursts into tears in relief, reaching down to cup his soft, aching cock to shield it from the sting of the air. San doesn’t seem to notice, rising to his feet and swiftly claiming his mouth in a kiss. He swipes his tongue past Wooyoung’s lips without warning, and he swallows up Wooyoung’s soft moan too at being made to taste himself.

“Think half the mall must’ve heard you by now,” San reprimands, rolling his hips unhurriedly against Wooyoung’s. He’s hard, straining against taut leather.

Wooyoung fumbles for his cock. “L- Let me help.”

San doesn’t stop him. “Don’t need much,” he pants. Wooyoung finds his front laces already undone, like San had had a hand in there already, and the thought of San touching himself while he was gagging on Wooyoung’s cock makes his head spin. Then San tells him, low and plain, “Let me cum on your face, baby.”

It’s a terrible idea. It’s a shitty idea, yet Wooyoung swiftly falls to his knees and tilts his head up at San to wait for it, delighting in San’s strangled groan.

“Do it,” he says, voice raw like he’d been the one taking it down his throat, eyes on the gorgeous curve of San’s cock as San mutters another fuck and takes himself into his hand, starting off with quick strokes. “Cum on my face, Sannie,” his voice pitches dangerously close to a whine, “wanna feel it on— Oh—”

The first splash of cum surprises him, his eyes widening at the sheer filth of something so hot and thick striping his cheek. He looks up, and San’s looking down at him with a groan, apparently liking what he sees, because he continues to strip his cock through his orgasm and aims the rest of his cum all over Wooyoung’s face, decorating his cheekbones, his half-parted lips, until a few rivulets even spill down his neck.

“There you go,” San breathes, and Wooyoung whimpers. “So fucking pretty like this, god, fuck.”

And San’s on the floor with him a moment later, fucking licking up his neck and over his cheeks, cleaning him off with his tongue. It’s filthy and he knows the regret’s going to hit him in ten minutes when the stickiness starts setting in, but for that one brief moment, all he has to focus on is San’s soothingly firm hand on the back of his neck, keeping him still as he drags his lips over his jaw.

The regret hits him in two minutes.

“Fuck. I need to go to the bathroom.” His face feels gross, and he’s pretty sure his choker’s slick with cum too.

“Leave the shirt, I’ll pay for it,” San mumbles, sounding somewhat repentant for once. “But take that choker off unless you want me to spend another hour here letting me play with your nipples.”

For the sake of the hour, Wooyoung does as he says.


- ♮ -


CONTACT: Jongho, Mingi, Sannie… (+4 others)

Hongjoong: yeah that sounds good and there’s still room left depending on what San and Wooyoung decide

Yeosang: pretty sure san’s not gonna volunteer to be the sober one let me just get that out of the way now

Jongho: whoever has two seats left has to take them. i call not it

Seonghwa: Where IS he, though

Yunho: UMMM…

Seonghwa: What is this?

Jongho: i

Seonghwa: What the fuck

Mingi: ????

Yeosang: lmao he really did it

Yunho: when he said shopping i didn’t think th

Hongjoong: is that wooyoung?

Mingi: ???????????????????????

Seonghwa: SAN.


“San-ah, I think there’s something going on in the chat.”

Freshly wiped clean, wearing a new, clean shirt, and not yet banned from the mall, Wooyoung looks up as San arrives with their tray of unreasonably priced mall food. Wooyoung digs in immediately. The food court’s pretty busy, but they managed to snag a table on the outskirts, lending them as much privacy as Wooyoung figures they’re going to get in here. The best they can do is eat quick enough and maybe slip out before anyone really notices.

“There’s always something going on with them,” San huffs.

Like Wooyoung, he’d freshened up in the bathroom too, but his clothes remained mostly intact. The hood’s back over his head again, his mask temporarily tugged beneath his bottom lip as he thumbs open his phone and reaches for a skewer at the same time. Actually, the whole incognito look’s starting to grow on Wooyoung, and no, it’s not because San just plied him with a blowjob.

“Yunho sent an article, though. It looked like it had your name in it,” he says with a little frown, trying to scroll past the flurry of messages coming in too quickly for him to read. Has someone recognized San?

“Shit,” he hears San mutter.

He looks up, and San has placed his phone on the table, the skewer half-forgotten in his hand as he rubs the corners of his eyes with his other hand. Then a moment later, he sighs, sounding resigned, and just takes another bite.

Wooyoung slurps on his Pepsi. “What’s wrong?”

San gestures towards his phone, so he moves over into the adjacent seat so he can peer at it. He recognizes the website’s header at the top, the partial URL ringing a bell. This must be whatever Yunho sent.

There’s a picture of a familiar street, distinguishable by a long walkway over an alley of shops. Below it is a second picture, this one a closer, blurrier shot of two figures entering one of the shops, hands linked together.

The realization hits him quietly.


Wooyoung is incensed. "They just had to use a picture that makes my ass look flat?" He shoves the phone back towards San, unwilling to look at it any longer.

“It’s that jacket, baby,” San says.

“No it isn’t! It’s just this shitty angle. Was this, like, not scandalous enough to make them want to get a better shot?”

San snorts. “You should’ve posed at the window with a dildo.”

“Well, if I’d known.” He would’ve flipped them off. No, he would’ve gone right out to them, grabbed their camera, then stomped it to bits. He takes an angry bite of his food as he lets the fantasy play out in his head. Even if San says he doesn’t care, their audacity grates his nerves. Why can’t they just leave San alone?

He glances back at him again, only to find that San has gone a little quiet, a little pensive. Wooyoung chews on his bottom lip lightly, feeling his indignation mellow out. “Sorry they found us, Sannie.”

Wherever San was, he seems to return at the sound of his name, gaze focusing back on Wooyoung. He pauses for a second—Wooyoung wonders why he’s looking at him like that—before shrugging and starting on another part of his skewer. “Do you regret coming with me now?”

He can’t answer quickly enough: “God, no.”

One corner of San’s mouth twitches. “Cool. I don’t either, so you don't have to be sorry about anything, yeah? I’m not worried about what they’re saying as long as you aren’t.”

“I’m not,” Wooyoung confirms.

The twitch becomes a smile. “Then good,” San says, and that seems to be that.

Wooyoung doesn’t realize it until a little while later—the headline had said date. Why would they think that? Was it because it looked like they were holding hands?

Were holding hands, his memory helpfully pitches in. He couldn’t possibly forget how shy San looked when he asked him to.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announces once they finish the last of the food. This day's been fucking with him, or possibly this whole week. Not in a bad way, it's just been a lot, and now his mind is clearly starting to mutate.

“You literally just went,” San says.

“Yeah, and I just drank my whole thing of soda plus half of yours, so I have to pee again,” Wooyoung says, poking his forehead. “And this time it’ll be more effective ‘cause I won’t be distracted trying to clean my face.”

“Weak, but okay.” San nudges his feet like an acknowledgement before he gets up, tossing in all of their trash onto the trash. “I’ll go throw this out. If we’ve got everything, we can go back to the car and I’ll drop you off at your place.”

Wooyoung maybe doesn’t want to go back to his place yet, but he doesn’t have a solid excuse for why yet. As soon as he sets off for the restrooms, he starts working on that.

Maybe he can pull the ‘sexiled’ excuse, but he’s not sure if San knows Mingi well enough to know the actual possibilities of Wooyoung being sexiled. Maybe he can tell him his apartment really did burn down from the stove, and oh, maybe he’ll have to stay with him for a few days. Maybe San will need help assembling the sex machine. Or, says the last, surviving part of his logical mind, maybe he can just ask San if he’d mind if Wooyoung stayed over at his place for a bit.

Nah, he better offer his assembling services.

Is it going to look suspicious to their friends if they’re both suddenly missing the night after they were spotted in a sex shop, though? But—the follow-up question to that is does he care, and he really doesn’t. Honestly, they should be grateful they were at least spared from the sex machine trivia.

The thought is so absurd that he’s giggling to himself as he walks out of the restroom. As if on cue, his phone buzzes, and there’s an unhappy message from San that reads, got kicked off the table and didnt have food as an excuse :\ meet me at that sushi stall?

Something about the little emoticon is cute. San is cute, he thinks, and then he has to think about how this doesn’t feel like a new realization. 

weak but okay, he replies, before heading right in that direction.

It’s been a good day. No, a good two days, so good that he’s even hopeful for a third one. This isn’t where he would’ve expected to be a month ago, but he’s far from complaining.

He’s not sure, then, why his vision suddenly seizes.

“Shit—” He hears his phone clatter to the ground, though it’s dimmed with everything else as green strikes like lightning through the darkness of his vision. Oh, fuck, this one hurts, like the color itself is slicing through him, and the sudden realization that he doesn’t have anyone with him makes his heart leap up his throat.

Something touches his shoulder and he yelps, swatting it away quickly.

“Wow, okay,” a voice says, floating along in the sea of nothingness, “I was just asking if you’re all right.”

There are more voices fluttering in.

“What’s he doing?”

“Should we do something?”

“He looks like he’s gonna fall over.”

“Hey, isn’t that—”

His name. Someone’s calling his name. “San?” he calls back blindly, reaching out through the sea of green, but his hand lands on someone else’s arm and somehow he knows it isn’t San, and he jerks back so quickly that he stumbles and loses his footing.

His hands are on something cool and dusty. The tile flooring, he tells himself, right, he’s at the mall, and he was close to where San wanted to meet, and he was sure that was San’s voice he heard, so he just needs to get back up and find him. There’s no need to panic. There’s no need for the way his throat suddenly feels a little thicker, his tongue a little heavier.

Where is he?


Onetwothreefour, onetwothreefour. Breathe. Breathe.

“Hey.” There’s someone suddenly by his side, wrapping him up into their arms, and just as sure as he was before, he knows that this one is San. Wooyoung fumbles for him, rapidly becoming aware of how shallow his breathing has become. “Hey, it’s okay,” San’s voice cuts a swathe through all the green, giving him a precious glimpse of the world again. “Breathe, remember? In, one, two.” 

In, one, two.  

“Out, three, four.” 

Out, three, four.

“What? What the fuck are you all looking at?”

“It’s okay,” he mumbles. His heart’s still pounding painfully, but at least it isn’t getting worse anymore, and a stupid little color storm isn’t worth causing a scene and all of the consequences that’d probably come with it. He takes a deep breath and manages to say, “I’m fine, San.”

He blinks a few times, spots of his vision gradually returning now, and he sees that San is looking at something. A small crowd has formed around them, Wooyoung realizes faintly. “You,” San says. He suddenly sounds angry, but not like before—angry in a way Wooyoung has never heard him. “You’re the one I saw—”

“Sannie.” He finds the front of San’s shirt and tugs, curling his other hand into a fist to rub over his eyes. In, one, two. Out, three, four. “It’s okay, can we just—can we go back to the car?”

One more blink, and then his vision is full of San, brows furrowed tightly together but his eyes softening with concern when he finally tears his gaze away from a scuffle in the crowd and turns to him. His hood is down, his mask askew, but all he’s looking at is Wooyoung.

There’s something about—

“Can you walk?” San says quietly.

Wooyoung averts his gaze, drawing his legs to his chest in preparation to stand up. This is humiliating. “C’mon, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“Then why’d you fall over?” San insists.

Wooyoung shakes his head, but he can’t shake off San as he stands—and maybe he does need the help, so he wordlessly takes it, not letting go of San’s arm even once he’s back on his feet. His mask is still on, but San hasn’t made a move to tug his own hood nor mask back in place, and there are definitely a few phones out in that crowd. He shifts closer to San instinctively, wishing he could put himself in front of him and just hide him from the world.

But maybe San’s tired of hiding too. “Get the fuck out of our way,” San says, and Wooyoung sees a lingering streak of green in the air as the crowd ripples.

Like magic, they step aside to let them through.

Because he doesn’t look up as San leads him out, he doesn’t see any of their eyes, drawn slack and blank.


- ♮ -


“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“For the last time, I’m fine.”

Predictably, at this time in the evening, there aren’t any more street parking spaces left, so San just pulls up right in front of Wooyoung’s apartment complex and punches the car into idle next to two cars parked by the curb. Through the building’s front windows, Wooyoung can see his security guard, already frowning severely in their direction.

“Do you need me to walk you up?” San says.

“I swear to god, San, if you start treating me like I’m fragile—”

“I just wanna make sure you get back safe! I didn’t even know you were still getting those.”

Wooyoung exhales, uncurling his hands from where he’s been gripping the strap of his seatbelt for the whole ride. “They’re nothing I haven’t dealt with before, and you know I can deal with a lot. I swear, it’s fine.”

He doesn’t think he should mention that they only started again a couple of weeks ago—right before San came back, actually. San would probably find a way to blame himself for that.

San pauses. “Can I walk you up anyway?”

“Why?” Wooyoung says. “I know how to walk.”

“Christ, you’re so stubborn.”

“Well, my security guard’s about two seconds away from calling the cops on you, so I’m sorry if I don’t think we have enough time for you to walk me up while your car’s still in the middle of the road!”

“I can afford bail!”

“That’s not the— Ugh, I don’t even want to go back.”

It slips out of him before he’s aware of himself saying it, and then as soon as he is, he bites down on the sides of his tongue, thinking, Stupidstupidstupidstup—

“Then why don’t you just come back to my place?”

He thinks he almost breaks his neck turning to look at San.

San was already looking at him. He seems caught off-guard, straightening back in his seat with a huff. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

“I mean.” He curls his fingers back over the seatbelt. His feet rustle against the bags of clothes they’d bought, another reminder of how the day has gone. “Are you sure? The whole day, you’ve spent…”

“I swear to god, if you say one more word about the money.”

“Not the money,” Wooyoung cuts in, “I meant your— time, San.”

San looks at him like he’s sprouted two heads. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You—” You’ve been with me since last night. We barely left each other’s sides all day. I’m pretty sure we’re past the 24-hour mark, and we didn’t even spend that much of it with our clothes off. “I know you have your own stuff to deal with, okay? So you don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything, yeah,” San says, sounding exasperated. “That’s the whole point, Wooyoung, that’s why I came back. I’m finally doing what I want. I want you back at my place because I like having you at my place.”


Wooyoung straightens forward too, eyes fixed on the dashboard. That’s never been an answer he thought was possible before, but this yanking in his gut suggests that maybe he’s been hoping for it. He nibbles on his bottom lip. “I can go up quick and grab some clothes to bring?”

“You can,” San says, eyes fixed on the steering wheel, “or you can just borrow some of mine.”

Him, borrowing some of San’s clothes. Him wearing San’s clothes.

“Knew it,” Wooyoung says past the pounding of his heart. “You just wanted me in your pants all along.”

“I want you in a lot more than that,” San says, without elaborating on whatever else he could mean. “So tell me yes or no before your security guard really does have me towed away.”

Was it ever actually a question? “Yes,” Wooyoung says.

“Okay. Great,” San says, and he puts the car back in drive and sets them off down the street again.

Maybe Wooyoung reaches for his hand.

Maybe San was reaching, too.

Chapter Text

It takes some effort, but he manages to convince San to stop by a grocery store before they go back, determined to be able to have something for breakfast tomorrow that isn’t a bottle of alcohol or a pack of spearmint gum. It’s nowhere near the extensive shopping trip he imagined doing for San, but it becomes quickly apparent that San has been recognized throughout the afternoon, because Wooyoung starts to see people’s eyes linger on them a little easier.

San seems flippant as ever about it, but he does keep Wooyoung within an arm’s reach while they’re at the store. Wooyoung makes the trip quick for his sake, sticking to basic ingredients and enough snacks to tide San over until the day he can push him into the produce aisle properly, and he pays when San briefly leaves to go to the bathroom.

San is tight-lipped when he comes back to see the bags in his hands.

“Let’s go,” is all Wooyoung says, hooking an arm beneath San’s, “they’re about to close soon.”

It’s almost ten by the time they get back to San’s hotel, and Wooyoung’s not sure what the bigger contributor to his embarrassment is: the fact they’re both still dressed in his ratty jackets as San walks them through the lobby, or the sight of one of the hotel’s fancy, golden luggage carts carrying a large, plain package, topped with a smaller but equally plain box on top. San seems either oblivious or impervious to both, making conversation with the two bellboys who accompany them upstairs because, as the receptionist put it, the boxes are heavy, and the hotel would not wish for its valued guests to sustain any injuries during their stay. Then the bellboys turn out to be massive fans of The Horizon, and Wooyoung can only stand there, grim-faced at his reflection in the elevator walls, and listen to San entertain his fans with a polite distance while they prepare to unknowingly unload a luggage cart full of sex toys.

He’s going to make sure San tips them five times as much later, especially when they address him with cheerful smiles and pleasant insistence when he tries to at least carry the smaller box in.

He leaves the coordinating of that to San, taking the rest of their bags from the mall and the trip they’d made to the grocery store before heading back. The state of San’s refrigerator is thankfully tragic enough to keep him preoccupied while San finishes up talking to the bellboys, and he waits for the sound of the elevator ding before he calls out, “You need any help?”

“I got it,” he hears San grunt.

That sounds harrowing.

“San-ah, just wait until I’m done here, it’s too heavy for one person to handle,” he says, exasperated.

“It’s fine,” says San, sounding suddenly much closer. Wooyoung leans back from the fridge to see him walking briskly into the kitchen, the hoodie now off and tied around his waist. The band tee Wooyoung lent him shows off the attractive lines of his arms, although Wooyoung spies a flush creeping into his hands. He glances up, and there’s a matching flush along San’s neck, visible in the kitchen light as he roots for something in the drawers.

Wooyoung rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Were you trying to open it with your bare hands?”

“They used a lot of tape,” San says solemnly. Then he brings out a large knife.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung says. “If you’d let me go up to my place, I could’ve gotten my switchblade.”

“That’s hot,” San says. “You need any help here?”

“No, I’ve got it. You’re the one who needs to be careful.” When San nods and starts heading towards the living room again, Wooyoung calls after him, “I’m serious, if you pull anything I’m just going to laugh at you!”

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s laughing soon.”

‘Soon’ turns out to be about ten minutes later, and ‘who’ does turn out to be him when he finally finishes in the kitchen and walks in on San struggling to put what looks like the basic frame of it together. “Having fun?” He grins, picking his way through the carnage of discarded cardboard and bubble wrap to sit on the floor by San. He offers out a bag of shrimp crackers he’d opened up, then rolls his eyes when San just opens his mouth without entirely looking away from the parts he’s trying to put together. He’s got a few parts laid out already, maybe the pieces for the bench. They’re black and deceptively innocent-looking, like San’s just assembling a dining table or something.

“Where’s the manual?” Wooyoung says, pushing away some more mangled cardboard.

“What manual?” San says as he fails to slot another screw in place.

Typical. Did San even look? Wooyoung sets the chips on the coffee table. He shuffles over to the main box and peers in, only to be accosted by the sight of a fake dick nestled in bubble wrap and the firm reminder of exactly what they’re building.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters, setting it aside delicately on the floor before taking a deep breath and diving back in. There are more parts for a frame, a small metal rod, and a heavy rectangular box with ports and a dial on the back, which he’d guess contains the motor and the piston. Tucked below it is a large baggie with more screws and what looks like two folded manuals, but he finds it hard to move past the motor yet, fixated on that dial. 

It goes up to eleven. The number’s so weird. They couldn’t fit it into a scale of ten? Or is eleven supposed to be some kind of bonus setting? What would it even look like?

“Did you find it?” San asks.

Wooyoung clears his throat quietly and lifts the motor so he can take out the baggie. He carefully sets the motor aside before the right manual out and passing it to San, but maybe he doesn’t do a good job of neutralizing his expression, because San tilts his head at him.

“What?” Wooyoung says, shaking the booklet at him. “Here.”

San takes the manual, but Wooyoung doesn’t miss the way he fiddles with his lip ring, studying him.

“I’ll work on this one,” Wooyoung volunteers when San doesn’t say anything. He takes the other manual for himself, ignoring the tingling in the tips of his ears.

“Okay,” San says lightly, and he goes back to work too. There’s a ghost of a smirk across his mouth, which definitely isn’t suspicious, but Wooyoung doesn’t point it out because it just feels like a different kind of trap.

The setup is surprisingly intuitive, like maybe the manufacturers weren’t expecting most of their customers to be engineers. Putting together the stand does remind him an awful lot of the time he and Jongho got their first dining table together, except that his face burns the entire time he affixes the black box to the legs and then the midnight black dildo to the end of the rod. The dick is a silicone, midnight black, not too long but a decent weight and thickness in his palms.

“Everything you hoped it would be?” San asks, interrupting his little reverie.

Wooyoung looks over. San is watching him, his gaze is playful, if not a little dark. “Not as big as you,” he replies, wrapping both hands around it experimentally.

“I’d hope so,” is all San says. “Less likely to really break you this way, hm?”

Wooyoung feels his cheeks heat up again, and again it’s not because he’s embarrassed about it. He’s embarrassed about how not embarrassed he feels, how he just wants to draw out that dark thing in San’s gaze and give it what it wants.

He purses his lips together in thought. “Can I try it when you’re done?”

San lifts an eyebrow. “Try it?”

“Oh,” Wooyoung says when he realizes why San’s gaze becomes a little darker, “I meant—to make sure everything’s in the right position? Since the pads are adjustable.”

He watches San consider this, though everything he’s considering seems to be on Wooyoung’s face. “Sure, that sounds smart. Help me finish this part, then?”

The bench is a little more complicated. San already has most of it in place, Wooyoung just has to help him fasten the smaller leather cushions to the arm and knee pedestals, then the leather restraints. The last piece they fit on is the main leather cushion, looking about as long and wide as his torso and black like the rest of the ensemble.

Until it turns out to not be the last piece after all. “Hold this still while I screw it in?” San hums, guiding his hand to the underside of the body cushion, and Wooyoung realizes that it comes with a smaller rectangular box hollowed out with a sheath that’s lined with something soft and pliant, looking, for all intents and purposes, like a fleshlight. Where San holds it, it looks positioned so that if the bench was mounted by somebody with a dick, they would be able to slide it inside.

“I got it,” he says, managing to sound like he’s dealing with this thought perfectly fine. He holds the box in place, closely aware of San’s hand over his and San’s hair tickling his chin as he leans down to get a better angle. 

Then, San announces, “All done.”

Wooyoung helps him up, and...he assesses it.

It’s bigger than he remembers it looking at the store. More intimidating too, beneath the low lights of San’s penthouse, but in a way that makes him shiver in anticipation.

“Do you need help?” San says. “Getting up?”

Wooyoung shakes his head with a hum. “No, I’ve got it.”

He circles around to the back of the bench. The kneerests are positioned lower than the armrests, allowing him to place one knee down and place his hands on the main cushion for balance. It feels sturdy and heavy, but San meets him on the other side to provide a counterweight anyway while he slings his other leg over the machine.

He settles pensively on the cushion, mounting it more like a horse instead of draping his chest on it yet. “Let go for a second?” he says to San, who wordlessly releases the bench. Wooyoung bites his lip, then braces both hands in front of him and wiggles his hips a little, trying to see how much movement it can take.

The bench doesn’t so much as sway, but he does get a little, “Fuck,” out of San. Wooyoung can’t stop himself quickly enough from smirking. “I like it,” he decides. “It feels good. Steady.”

“You look good,” says San.

Wooyoung smiles. “I’ll look better laying on it. Can you help me with the cuffs?”

He lowers himself down, bracing both forearms on the arm rests, before shifting his lower half downwards on the body cushion. San is by his side a moment later, guiding him back by the waist until his hips are right at the edge, his crotch flush with the cocksleeve underneath. He finds the kneerests easily—like the armrests, they’re slanted towards the floor to let his arms and legs fold more comfortably instead of at ninety-degree angles.

The armrests are poised higher, but still low enough that when he tries to prop himself up on his elbows, his chest still brushes close to the cushion.

“Okay?” San murmurs, maybe sensing the pause.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says.

He lowers himself down to his chest the rest of the way, and oh. It feels perfect, comfortable, his limbs at ease and his weight resting evenly across the cushion. There’s a headrest at the top too, with a U-shaped cushion positioned upside down to support him by the forehead and the sides of his face. When he nestles his head against it, it seems to complete the experience—he feels completely cradled by the bench.

“Young-ah?” San whispers.

Wooyoung flutters his eyes open, not realizing when he’d closed them. He tilts his head sideways, smiling lazily up at San. “Can you come see if this thing’s adjustable?”

“Which part, baby?”

He wants to purr at San’s hand, smoothing through his hair. “The headrest.”

It is. With the body cushion stopping just at the base of his neck, he’ll have to crane his neck up to look at San, but he’s at the perfect angle to get to San’s cock.

“I think it’d be more comfortable if we kept it there, though,” San says, cupping his cheek.

“Maybe once you leave it running,” Wooyoung sighs. “Wanna be able to suck you off.”

San’s hand tenses a little in his hair, and Wooyoung bites back a satisfied smile at being the one on his hands and knees but still having that much of an effect on San. He wishes he could hear what he was thinking.

San adjusts the headrest in place again, and Wooyoung doesn’t complain, happy to tuck his face back into it when there isn’t a dick to be sucked. “Do you want to use the straps too?” San questions. “I know we said—”

“Mm, yeah, put them on.” He nods against the cushion. “Wanna see how they feel.”

The cuffs are leather too, fastened by buckles and the insides lined with soft fur. San lets him dictate how snug to pull, which just means Wooyoung lets him fasten both straps over his forearms until all he can do is tense against them, then the same for the two straps around his calves. Two more straps go around his torso, one right below his shoulderblades and the other over his waist, bearing him down against the cushion.

With his ass sticking out and his legs spread like this, he thinks he should feel obscene, but it just feels...comforting. Simple. Maybe San really is spoiling him.

“Do luxury sex machines exist?” he mumbles into the headrest. “I think this might be one of them.”

He hears San chuckle, his warm hand smoothing through his hair again. “I’m glad you like it.” That might be pride he hears in there.

He listens to the sounds of San moving around, accompanied by the sounds of metal being lifted and set down on the floor. He figures he’s adjusting the length of the rod, feeling the tip of the dildo occasionally nudge against his thighs. Then at one point, he hears San click something, and the whir of a motor suddenly fills the air.

It’s not as sudden as the blunt dick that starts jabbing into his clothed ass, though. It poses no real threat, not extended enough to be more than a simple poking against him, but he still jolts, only to be met by the unforgiving firmness of the straps.

Oh. Okay, yeah, this feels obscene.

“What speed is that?” he breathes. It’s fast, and he does his best to count along and keep track of the seconds at the same time. If he’s not mistaken, it’s almost one thrust per second, so maybe San skipped to six or—

“Three,” San says.

“Oh,” he says. “Maybe we can work up to eleven.”

He feels San lay a calm hand over his hip. “What, in one night?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Want all of it.”

“You think you can take it?”

Honestly? “I want you to make me.”

San appears in his periphery suddenly, kneeling by his shoulder. Wooyoung tilts his cheek to look at him properly, even though he’s already starting to feel a little swimmy just laid out like this, looking at San while the machine pumps against him. “How else do you want this to go, baby?”

Where does he begin? “Can we…tomorrow? When we come back,” he whispers. “If you’d want to, too.”

San is still stroking his hair. It helps everything feel even fuzzier, softer. “Then that means no drinking for either of us at the club,” San says evenly. “That’s a hard rule. No alcohol. Even if you just so much as kiss it off of someone else, neither of us are going near this thing, understand?”

Wooyoung isn’t sure why San mentions him kissing someone else, but the rest of it sounds sensible and doable. “Loud and clear, Sannie.”

“Good boy.”

He shivers, feeling a flush creep into his cheeks. It's far from the dirtiest thing San has called him, even erring on the nicer side, but it makes him feel warm in ways he doesn't have the language to describe. “For now,” he mumbles.

“Not planning on making it easy for me?” San says, sounding a little amused.

Wooyoung closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek into the leather. “Nope. You’re gonna have to earn it.”

“I don't know about earning it, I think you want me to just take it. Am I right, Youngie?”

“Mm.” San’s being so sweet to him now, still petting his hair, laying a kiss to the back of his bound wrist. Wooyoung nuzzles into his touch and tells him, turning his lazy glance upwards, “Want you to do your worst.”

San’s eyes are unreadable. “How about I get you out of here and in the shower, and you can tell me more about exactly what you want?”

Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Wooyoung lets him turn off the machine and unstrap him from the bench, then help him to the shower. The fuzzy feelings don’t completely fade, not even when San’s got him in bed and whispering all of the things he wants for the next night. San is oddly silent for most of it besides lazy hums of acknowledgement, running his hand through his hair rhythmically like Wooyoung’s telling him a little bedtime story.

He really is sweet, even if he’ll never admit to it. Wooyoung tells him so, and he snickers when San pulls a face but otherwise doesn’t argue. Indulging him, maybe, the way he’s been doing all day.

Go ahead, Youngie, his voice rings in the back of his mind. Have your fun today, hm?

Wooyoung can’t wait for tomorrow.


- ♮ -


“You survived,” Mingi cries after San drops him off back at the apartment the next morning. He says his last goodbye to San before shutting the door, and then his roommates are upon him.

“Are you wearing San’s clothes?” Jongho accuses.

Oh, that. He’s in one of San’s washed out denim jackets, a custom one he mentioned having Hongjoong make for him, which was already loose on San but now hangs even looser on him because he doesn’t have San’s insane shoulders. He likes feeling dwarfed by it though, so he clutches it protectively when Mingi gasps and starts trying to poke and prod at official San-blessed merchandise.

“What, were you gonna make me walk naked through Seoul?” Wooyoung sniffles.

“What about the shirt you left here in?”

Wooyoung opens his mouth.

“Never mind, I didn’t ask!” Jongho quickly abandons him at the doorway and doesn’t take Mingi with him, which means Wooyoung has to fend off Mingi’s fingers by himself while still holding his shopping bags. It’s sick, really.

“Mingi-yah, you seriously need to look into your blood circulation, no one’s hands are that cold.”

“What if I’m method acting for my costume this weekend?”

“You’re going as a vampire again?”

Mingi looks cross. “A slutty vampire.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes.

“Yah, don’t roll your eyes at me. I bet you’re going as a slutty fox again.”

“I retired my slutty fox outfit two years ago, what kind of friend are you?” he huffs. “I’m not telling you anymore. You’ll just have to find out on Sunday with everyone else who committed high treason against me.”

“Are you hitching a ride with San tonight?” Jongho calls from the kitchen.

“No, he’s gonna be Yunho and Seonghwa-hyung’s designated driver, so you guys are stuck with me!”

“You don’t feel weird not arriving at a club with your boyfriend?” Mingi questions.

Wooyoung resists the urge to rub his face. “Real people who date each other do that all of the time. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Which is fine. San isn’t ready for anything yet, and it’s fine, because Wooyoung would rather have him as a friend or—whatever they’re doing is called than not at all, and it’s been that way since the first time he realized he could want something more. He would wait for San however long it takes.

He just wishes the universe would get the memo, too.

Mingi shoots him a weird look, and Wooyoung waves him off, untangling himself from his arms to haul his bags to his room. “Let me put these away, then we can watch two movies to make up for me missing yesterday.”

“Breaking sacred tradition for a sex shop,” Mingi sniffles. “I hope you got something good.”

Wooyoung grins. “I’ll tell you about it later. You and Jjongie can pick the movie.”

“Let’s marathon Child’s Play,” Jongho shouts.

“Please no,” Mingi says.

Wooyoung pulls a little “whoops” at his appalled face. “You two can fight that out,” he says cheerfully, then slips out of the room.


- ♮ -


In the end, Mingi relents on the condition that he’s sandwiched between them on the sofa. It’s a familiar position, Mingi hoarding his right arm as an interchangeable blindfold with Jongho’s left arm, and Wooyoung’s glad he’s ambidextrous when his phone screen lights up with a message from San.

Mingi’s too busy squealing at the screen and Jongho’s too busy laughing at him to notice, so Wooyoung unlocks his phone in hopes of checking it quickly.

ta dah, San says.

Below it is a mirror selfie. San is shirtless, wearing a pair of low-riding sweatpants that show off his vee line. He looks fresh from the shower, maybe, what looks like his bathroom counter visible at the bottom of the picture, but it cuts off just below his neck, obscuring his face.

what am i supposed to be looking at? Wooyoung says.

its a surprise, San says. How cryptic.

why did you send me a pic if u weren’t planning on telling me :p, Wooyoung asks.

i just wanted to :(

are you trying to sext me, choi san?

depends, San says, predictably. is it working?

Wooyoung shifts subtly in his seat. i’m watching a movie with my roommates u jerk

poor baby

i hate you, Wooyoung is in the middle of typing out, until Mingi screams at a jumpscare and startles him into locking his phone. Heart pounding, he looks over in case either of them saw it, but they’re both pretty fixated on the movie and each other. Thank god.

He sees his screen light up one more time, but he’s not making that mistake again and turns back to the movie.

He tries his best to concentrate. Really. Child’s Play is one of his and Jongho’s mutual favorites and the bane of Mingi’s existence, which puts it in his top three favorite horror movies of all time, but it’s just hard to pay attention to evil dolls when his mind keeps wandering to San, the outfit sitting out on his bed, San, the night ahead of them, and San.

They’d spoken about the finer details of it that morning, all casual tones while Wooyoung prepared breakfast. He’d felt a habitual blush lingering in his face the entire time, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the day before—not when he knew now just how much San wanted everything too. If he ever doubted it, he had the memory of how bothered San was in the dressing room just from looking at him, not even dressed in his full costume yet, to remind him.

And to encourage him. He really does see why San teases him all of the time now. He used to play a similar game for his parents’ lavish events, like a game of minesweeper where he purposely sought out what made guests tick. This version’s a lot more fun. San deserves some poking too, especially after all he’s put Wooyoung through.

And if it only gets him to snap a little harder, to be a little meaner? See, Wooyoung wins either way.

The day blurs. He loses track of the names of all the bad slashers they end up watching, and maybe he ends up forgetting a little about the messages too. By the time seven rolls around, Mingi has finally burnt out his horror movie battery and they need to start getting ready anyway.

“Jongho-yah,” he says, rolling over the space Mingi left behind to fling himself into Jongho’s lap. “Are you gonna start getting ready too? Let me do your makeup.”

“You look like you’re plotting,” Jongho tells him. “If I’m going to be involved, you’re legally obligated to tell me.”

“Not legally,” Wooyoung scoffs, but yeah, they did put that in their roommate agreement. “Fine. No, you will not be involved in my plot, unless you want to be.”

“No,” Jongho says. “Do Mingi and I need to find somewhere else to crash tonight?”

He smiles. “No, Sannie and I are going to his place after.”

Jongho looks pained. “Cool. Yeah, you can do my makeup.”

They have plenty of time until they have to meet the others, so there’s no rush. Jongho doesn’t actually want that much makeup done, but he does let Wooyoung pick out his outfit for the night, and Wooyoung does his best with what he’s got. It’s like a little warmup, something to soothe his nerves while Mingi occupies the bathroom first.

Or maybe soothe his nerves is the wrong way to put it—maybe curb his excitement would be more accurate.

He doesn’t remember that he still has an unread message from San until he comes out of his shower. did you really just leave me on read, San had sent after Wooyoung failed to reply to his last message, followed by a :( that makes him snort quietly as he towels his hair dry.

And to think that Choi San once intimidated him.

He sets his phone down on the dresser and turns to his outfit for the night: the streaked red satin shirt he picked out the day before and a pair of pleather pants from his older clubbing days, when real leather pants turned out to be a pain to clean, and the Threestars bag with the box for the choker and…

Well, he won’t be able to wear boxers with pants this tight, will he?

He slips everything on with ease—even the pants seem to remember his shape well. He’s reluctant to forego the nipple nooses, remembering how much San liked those, but he doesn’t want to go numb before they even meet the others at the club. The choker looks pretty enough without them attached anyway, and he pairs on top of a wide, black silk band underneath to accentuate its shine. A short sash dangles from the black choker, draping prettily over his shoulder. 

He leaves the top three buttons of his shirt undone, so that it hangs open loosely enough to give a flash of his collarbones too. Then he fishes out some old studs and a silver dangling earring to match the metal choker, and it isn’t until he’s fixing them to his ears that he realizes how much he missed this.

These used to be the kinds of parties he liked to attend, not the stiff dinners in shirts and ties. Before Jongho graduated and they started struggling to make rent on time, there wasn’t really enough time to go out anymore, and the habit began fading off once he picked up the second job at Hongjoong’s store. Maybe that wasn’t all to blame, though—he remembers the way they’d started to feel dull and a little pointless, and even the nights he did end up going home with someone weren’t that memorable either.

But now, knowing that he’ll have San there?

Oh, yes. San.

He grabs his phone, grinning. He doesn’t resort to the mirror—he flips the camera, then angles it so that just the curve of his lips and everything below the choker are visible, curling his fingers coquettishly into one side of his shirt collar to reveal one of the many marks San left him with over the last two days.

He gets the picture in one shot and sends it off to San, then pulls over his makeup box to the mirror.

His phone chimes.

shouldve left you more, San says.

Wooyoung hums. He purposely waits five minutes, taking out his brushes in the meantime, before replying, you left me plenty. there’s barely any room left on my neck >:(

San’s reply is much quicker. your thighs, then.

Wooyoung scoffs, but there’s no denying the little thrill that runs through his veins at the promise. He sets his phone aside.

He goes with something simple tonight—just enough eyeliner to bring attention to his eyes and a subtle smokey eye, tinged the same red as his shirt. A smear of luminous gloss on his lips, afterwards. He’s tempted to send another picture to San, but he wants to keep a few of his own surprises, too.

He must be wearing his satisfaction all over his face because when he walks out to the kitchen, Mingi says, “Holy shit, Wooyoungie, you look hot.”

Wooyoung can’t help it. He bursts into a grin, angling himself to the side a little at Mingi’s whistle. “I know, right?

“You’re, like, gonna drive San insane before we even get any dancing done, though.”

“Crossing my fingers,” he says solemnly. He grabs the dark denim jacket that’s been sitting over the back of the seat since San left it there the day before and shrugs it on. “Is Jongho ready?”

The others haven’t said a word in the group chat yet, but it’s thirty minutes to the time they agreed to meet when they pile into Jongho’s car and the GPS claims it’s a twenty-eight minute drive to the club, so Wooyoung figures that they’re making good time.

we’re on our way ⸜(。•_• )⸝, he tells San.

cute, San says. just waiting on yunho and seonghwa-hyung but maybe yeosangie will get there earlier.

“Ew, you’re smiling like that again,” Mingi crows from the passenger seat.

Wooyoung puts his phone down.

It’s chilly out, but thankfully they don’t stay outside long. When they arrive at the club, Yeosang is already waiting by the entrance, somehow looking even more gorgeous than he usually is in a tight-fitting shirt with a hem that curves up on one side, flashing a lopsided glimpse of his waist and hips. “Did you leave in a rush?” he asks, raising a brow at the tube of lip gloss Wooyoung is currently reapplying to his lips.

“Nope,” Wooyoung says, smacking his lips, “just a touch-up.”

“He bit me in the car,” Mingi hisses.

Looking like he’s fighting back a laugh, Yeosang leads them past the bouncer.

Yeah, it’s really been a while since Wooyoung’s been in this scene. He forgot how loud the music can be, how he swears he can feel every pound of the bass in his bones, how everything starts to look liminal under the kaleidoscope of neon lights. The dance floor’s already brimming with bodies moving in tandem with the beat, some of them dressed in early Halloween costumes. Too bad he didn’t bring a set of cat ears or two.

Yeosang takes them to one of the half-moon booths by the dance floor that they’ve apparently claimed for their group, and Hongjoong’s already there too, thumbing at a glass with one hand and holding his phone with the other.

“Hyung, you’re too hot to be on your phone in a club,” Wooyoung complains, launching himself into the empty space next to him. Ooh, leather seats— no, focus. If Hongjoong’s still trying to do work, Wooyoung’s going to dunk his phone in his drink.

“Get off me, you brat.” Hongjoong looks like he’s about to push Wooyoung away by the face, and Wooyoung squeaks and dodges his hand just before Hongjoong smears it right across the makeup he put so much thought into. “What?” Hongjoong says, finally putting his phone down to give him an exasperated look—and then another, and another.

Then, he looks grim.

“Should I warn San about this?” he says dryly.

“No! You can’t spoil it,” Wooyoung says, aghast.

Mingi’s already dragging Yeosang and Jongho off to the dance floor. “Come on,” Hongjoong says, “I’m too hot to be dancing alone too,” and he’s right, so Wooyoung sheds his jacket in the center of the seats to save his spot and joins them on the dance floor.

He ends up somewhere between Mingi and Yeosang, laughing into Yeosang’s neck when Jongho accidentally bumps into Mingi and Mingi thinks that Hongjoong’s trying to grind against him.

“I didn’t think their bickering could get worse than in texts,” Yeosang says, speaking the loudest Wooyoung’s heard him just to be audible above the music.

“Oh, it gets so much worse,” he shouts back.

“I’m joining you two before Mingi elbows me in the face again,” Hongjoong announces a moment later, appearing by their side and trying to wedge himself between some stranger and Wooyoung’s back.

“Nuh-uh,” Wooyoung says, and he twists out of Yeosang’s arms to switch places with Hongjoong, grinning as he slings his arms loosely over his shoulders instead. “Shortest gets sandwiched.”

“I’m literally taller than you in these boots.”

“Maybe physically, but what about emotionally?”

“Even taller.”

But then Yeosang says something into Hongjoong’s ear that he doesn’t hear, his hands appearing over Hongjoong’s hips, and Hongjoong briefly turns his cheek before glancing at Wooyoung again. Whatever Yeosang says to him, it seems to convince Hongjoong to relent, settling his hands on Wooyoung’s hips and falling into the rhythm with them. Wooyoung smiles smugly, and over Hongjoong’s shoulder, Yeosang shares an amused little smile with him in return.

They’re good dancers. Like, really good dancers. He’s seen videos from The Horizon’s official social media accounts of them dancing for fun, and he knows they can all move, but Hongjoong’s more of a surprise when Wooyoung’s only ever seen him squinting at a blocky computer like an ahjussi.

Eventually, over the beat of some especially bass-boosted song, Hongjoong leans in by his ear and tells him, “The others are here.”

Wooyoung hums, tempted to turn around. “At the table?”

“Yeah, it looks like Jongho found them.”

“Can you tell me when they look?”

“Are you asking me to be part of whatever game you and San are playing?”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung pouts. “And to be on my side, obviously.”

“Sannie’s coming,” Yeosang offers over Hongjoong’s shoulder.

Damn it. They were supposed to tell him when he starts looking, not coming over. Wooyoung’s about to slip around when he feels a second set of hands lay over Hongjoong’s on his waist, doubling the warmth, and San’s chest pressing against his back.

“Got started without us, hyung?” San says, the words running right down Wooyoung’s spine and joining the thrum of the music in his bones.

He fights off the shiver. San isn’t moving, but Wooyoung refuses to miss a beat, even if it means brushing against San’s chest as he continues to move with Yeosang and Hongjoong.

“Didn’t we need to talk to Seonghwa-hyung about Sunday?” Yeosang says, face tilted towards Hongjoong but speaking loudly enough for Wooyoung to hear too.

“Work stuff?” Wooyoung accuses, looking to Hongjoong.

“A street party. For Halloween,” Hongjoong says. “Don’t pout at me, you’re all invited already. Come on, Yeosang-ah.”

He suddenly finds himself bereft of a dancing partner as Hongjoong slips away, Yeosang in tow. “Hyung,” he whines, about to turn after them, but San squeezes his hips. Then he tries to move around to face him too, but San just squeezes again and doesn’t let him turn. “Hi to you too,” Wooyoung says loudly, giving up. “Not gonna let me see the fruits of my labor?”

He feels San chuckle into the back of his hair. “Picking out a shirt counts as labor now?”

“Yes,” he insists, “especially if it’s ninety percent of the reason you look so hot. Lemme see.”

He keeps forgetting that San is stronger than he used to be, because San just keeps him firmly in place by the hips. Must be all the guitar wielding. He finally resorts to just craning his neck around, only to see— “You cut your hair?”

There’s a small furrow to San’s eyebrows. “You ruined the surprise.”

With that, his hold loosens enough for Wooyoung to finally twist around, winding his arms around San’s shoulders instead. He’s wearing the shirt Wooyoung picked out with that vest, thankfully buttoned up to a reasonable height, and what looks like a pair of real leather pants. His shoes must be heeled or something, because he stands a few centimeters taller than Wooyoung than usual.

None of those are the surprise, though. 

Through the swirling lights, San’s hair seems darker now — did he dye it too? — and definitely shorter. A few strands fall attractively over his forehead, but they’re nowhere near long enough to brush over his eyebrows like before. San didn’t mention haircuts when they were planning out tonight. “When were you going to surprise me?” Wooyoung says heatedly. “When we got back to the table, so I’d pass out on top of everyone’s drinks?”

“Well, I don’t see any passing out now,” San says, sounding disappointed about it.

Wooyoung flutters his eyes shut and drops forward like a dead weight, and he’s satisfied to feel San catch him with a small grunt, arm secured around the back of his waist. “My hero,” he preens, nosing at San’s jaw.


It’s not rare at all for him to hear, but the way San says it always makes him so—

“That’s not how it works,” he says, pulling back to look at San reproachfully. “You have to call me your brat if you wanna match.”

San’s lips curl. He rocks his hips experimentally once against Wooyoung’s, feeling out the rhythm of the song, and Wooyoung’s encouraged to start moving against him too in hopes of finally getting a dance. “Oh, you want me to call you mine, huh?”

The, “What if I do?” slips out before he can stop himself, but even once he’s said it, he doesn’t want to take it back. Music’s always had a way of making him feel bold.

He waits to feel the flinch, some kind of aversive reaction from San, but San only raises an eyebrow and considers him for a moment. “I think,” San makes just the minimum effort to be heard so that Wooyoung has to lean in, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

Wooyoung pouts, jutting his bottom lip out a little more dramatically than he needs to. “I already dressed up ‘specially for you.”

“You do look pretty tonight, baby,” San says, “but that pretty little head of yours must be as empty as it looks if you think it’s going to be that easy.”

The words brush against him like cotton thick with static, faint, dull, but with the promise of an eventual spark. Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but he finds he can’t tell San he’s wrong.

“Figured.” San clicks his tongue. “You can’t just pull a little pout, bat your lashes, and get what you want all the time. Not after that stunt you pulled yesterday.”

“You liked it,” Wooyoung says.

“I did,” San says airily. “But not as much as this little look you get after a few mean words.”

San shifts his leg, and Wooyoung’s mouth goes a little dry when he feels his knee brush between his own legs. He hates that San isn’t wrong, that even just the suggestion of a sneer in San’s voice affects him so much.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Yunho’s voice suddenly rises above the music, and Wooyoung’s forced to clear his expression and smile when San’s bandmate suddenly appears next to them. “We kept waiting for you for first drinks, but then Jongho was, like, if we wait for you, we were gonna wait the whole tonight.”

“I’ve told you three times earlier that I’m not drinking tonight,” San reminds him.

Yunho just grins. “Oh, right. Well, what about you, Wooyoungie?”

“Sorry, I’m with Sannie tonight,” Wooyoung says, flashing him a sympathetic pout from behind San’s arm.

“Ah, young love,” Yunho sighs dramatically, and Wooyoung hopes that the lighting is obnoxious enough to hide his flustered cheeks. “Where’s— Hyung! Over here!”

Oh, no. Wooyoung’s forced to shift closer to San too for the sake of not giving Yunho a hint on what they’ve been talking about, and then to hide himself from Seonghwa too when he appears, looking like some dark siren in sleek blacks and blues.

“Why are you all so hot,” Wooyoung complains.

“Hot people attract hot people,” Yunho says, like this makes perfect sense. “Why do you think you ended up friends with us too?” 

“You know what?” Wooyoung says, because it does. “You’re right.”

“Finally, someone who speaks my language.” Yunho throws an arm around his shoulder, making him grin. “Now tell them I’m the hottest, too.”

“You’re such a fucking lightweight, Yunho-yah,” San says, at the same time Seonghwa rolls his eyes and says, “It should be biologically impossible for someone as tall as you to get tipsy this fast.”

“See?” Yunho says, sounding aggrieved even as he tugs Seonghwa into a dance. “You call these best friends for life?”

Wooyoung snickers. “Well, you’re all hot, but if I had to rank my preferences, I can’t lie,” he begins, sparing a hand to pat Yunho’s chest consolingly. “Second hottest. Your height’s really convincing, but I’m probably just biased towards the sexy, mysterious ones.”

He drags his gaze lazily from Yunho to San, finding that San’s already looking at him, one corner of his mouth tugged up into a little smirk.

There’s a matching smirk on Wooyoung’s face when he says, “Seonghwa’s in first place.”

Yunho bursts into a laugh, trying to muffle it into Seonghwa’s shoulder while Seonghwa just gives him a look of gratification and announces, “We’re keeping you.”

“Hear that, Sannie?” He turns to San, smug. “You’re keeping me.”

But instead of that smirk being wiped off of San’s face, Wooyoung finds that it’s only grown a little wider, San’s gaze sharp in the dark. “Looks like I am,” San says. Hiis hand slides past Wooyoung’s hip, pinky brushing over the seam of one of Wooyoung’s back pockets, and his eyes are glittering with a smile, and Wooyoung’s reminded of the words he was last promising into his shoulder, Keep fucking talking, Wooyoung. See where it’ll get you.

Yeah, he does want to see. 

The others join them little by little, until they’ve carved out a small space for themselves in the crowd. The crowd feels so much fuller now, the music ramping up and blazing a hot trail through him as he moves in tandem with San, who just— San just looks at him, lazily, maybe distantly, like Wooyoung’s amusing him but in the way that watching a rerun of his favorite show would amuse him. It makes Wooyoung’s head buzz with irritation, both at how annoying it is and at how hot San looks when he slips into this role.

And at how San seems to know exactly how badly it gets him with the way he smirks the entire fucking time.

Wooyoung loses track of the songs, counting them by how often he needs to shift his pace against San. He’s vaguely aware of being half hard against San’s thigh and there’s no way San doesn’t notice it too, but San seems content to stay there, like he’s doing Wooyoung a favor by letting him grind against him. 

Infuriating? Yes. Does Wooyoung want to kiss him anyway? Also yes, but he’s not going to give San the satisfaction of leaning in first. Too bad he couldn’t have worn the nipple chains after all, he laments, but then someone bumps into him and crowds him closer against San, and the way San’s hands tighten protectively over his hips remind him that that wasn’t all he had.

Wooyoung bites his lip, feigning discomfort and reaching back to pinch at his shirt like it’s been caught. As he suspects, San’s paying attention after all, because he lifts his hands slightly to let Wooyoung adjust his shirt. Just like that, he tugs the loose ends of his shirt up and over San’s hands, and San, an adorable creature of habit, just smooths them back into place on his hips, but now with the pads of his thumbs brushing over the edge of Wooyoung’s pants, over bare skin and the thin band of—

San’s rhythm slows, and Wooyoung feels it, that moment of discovery, how San’s hand stills at first before his thumbs swipe over the edge of lace peeking above the waistband of his pants.

He gives San a guileless smile. “Starting to get tired already, Sannie?” 

He watches San lick his lips. Wooyoung tilts his head up eagerly, recognizing the telltale signs of San about to kiss him, but San doesn’t. He doesn’t, and he just slides his hands up higher, the shape of them warm over Wooyoung’s waist, his back, before sliding back down far enough to tuck the tips of his fingers past Wooyoung’s waistband, rubbing firmly at the edge of the lace panties he’d slipped on in lieu of boxers.

“Got pretty for me down here too, baby?” San murmurs, looping a finger around the sash of his choker and giving it a light tug.

Wooyoung lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, enjoying the closeness even if it’s not the kiss he wants. “I think you think I’m always pretty down there, Sannie.”

“I do.” San noses at his hair. Still not a kiss. “I hope you weren’t counting on these making it through the night.”

Wooyoung pretends to think about it. “You’re going to have to buy me a new pair.”

“As long as you try them on for me first,” San says easily. “Have to make sure I’m getting my money’s worth.”

If Wooyoung didn’t know how much money used to make San’s skin crawl, he’d be convinced that he really is just some rich asshole, but he also knows how well San can play roles too.

“We’ll see about that,” he says noncommittally, because San still hasn’t kissed him. Oh, well. It was worth a shot. “Gonna go dance with my roommates,” he decides, using the lull between songs to ease himself out of the tempting circle of San’s arms. He makes sure San’s hands linger the longest before smoothing his shirt back down again, shooting San a secretive smile. “Save the last dance for me, though.”

He can feel the weight of San’s gaze on the back of his head as he makes his way through the crowd, but he manages to resist the urge to turn back. He finds Mingi and Jongho easily, clumped with Yunho and Seonghwa nearby.

“Hi, Jjongie,” he says grandly, flinging his arms around him since Mingi’s preoccupied with jumping with Yunho. “Having fun?”

“I’m drunk,” Jongho says solemnly, “but also not drunk enough to be watching you and San grind on each other all night. But sure, it’s fun.”

“Well, I’m here to grind on you now, does that help?” Wooyoung says.

“It definitely doesn’t,” Jongho groans, but he’s the one who tugs Wooyoung close, so.

Simple. Easy.

The night coalesces into one blurry stretch of time and color, washing out his thoughts and stringing them up to the neon lights to dry unhurriedly. A few times, he catches glimpses of San dancing with Yunho, sometimes with Hongjoong, and if San catches him staring occasionally—well, that means he was looking too, doesn’t it?

At some point, he sees San finally extricate himself from Hongjoong and break free of their little group. Either they’d unconsciously migrated deeper into the crowd or it’s grown bigger, because Wooyoung can’t tell where he’s going, but he plants a thankful little kiss on Jongho’s cheek — and ducks from Jongho’s sluggish attempt to pinch him in punishment — and starts after San.

He ends up out of the crowd. He’s a little lost for a second, the music doing just as well to make him feel buzzed, until he realizes that this is the same side of the dance floor as their booth. San is there now, sliding into the seat with a glass of something clear, and Wooyoung pouts all the way after him.

He announces himself by half sliding, half crawling onto the rounded leather seat, sidling up close to San. His limbs are beginning to feel pleasantly warm from dancing for so long. “I thought maybe I finally drove you to drink.”

“I have a pretty good reason not to,” San says, not looking at all surprised to see him.

The booth’s full of empty glasses and piles of everyone’s discarded coats and gloves. San holds up his drink to Wooyoung’s mouth, and Wooyoung sniffs to confirm that it doesn’t smell like alcohol before taking a sip. Not as exciting as the tang of some fruity drink, but hopefully that’ll pay off.

When he’s had his fill, he wraps his hand over San’s on the glass and guides it to his mouth too. San takes a sip wordlessly, his eyes trained on him, and Wooyoung doesn’t bother hiding his interested gaze in the line of San’s throat moving with each swallow. He glances up just in time to catch a thin droplet of water escaping the corner of San’s lips.

He clicks his tongue; San’s always been a messy eater. He leans forward, angling around the end of the glass—

San turns away from him to set down the glass, thumbing at the droplet himself, and Wooyoung feels his frustration finally starting to rattle against its cage.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he whines. San’s been grinding on him all night, giving him looks over people’s shoulders, watching him like he wants to devour him whole. Wooyoung knows they said they didn’t want it easy, but he thought that meant San would make him beg for his dick, not for a little kiss.

“Tell me one thing you’ve done to deserve it,” San says, throwing an arm around the back of the seat, not touching him either.

“I—” If Wooyoung does, is San going to deduct ten points from whatever score he’s been keeping all night? Whatever—Wooyoung’s probably in the negatives anyway. He places a hand on San’s thigh, leaning into him in what Mingi calls his slutty mermaid pose, no matter how many times Wooyoung insists he’d rather be a siren. “I let you touch my panties,” he accuses. “And you liked them.”

San huffs out a laugh. Wooyoung wants to shake him down. “I guess I did. Maybe for that, I’ll let you kiss me.”

Oh, he’ll let Wooyoung kiss him. How generous. Wasn’t he listening? Wooyoung wants to be kissed.

“Fine,” he mutters, but before he goes to do just that, San stops him with a hand at the base of his neck, keeping him at bay.

“I think you should thank me first,” San says.

“Tell me one thing you’ve done to deserve it,” Wooyoung parrots.

San just digs his thumb a little more firmly into the hollow of his throat, but in the end, it’s not the pressure that wins out, it’s the horribly realistic possibility that San really won’t kiss him for another hour if he lets this chance pass.

Bastard. “Thank you,” Wooyoung grits out.

San smiles, looking pleased. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He releases his neck to give him two firm pats on the cheek. “Go ahead, then.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrow. He pushes closer, steadying himself by the grip he’s got on San’s thigh, but then he realizes: San wasn’t very specific.

He slips his legs off of the seat and begins to slide under the table. It’s round too to complement the shape of the booth, with a single sturdy leg that allows Wooyoung plenty of space to budge up between San’s knees.

San’s hand immediately fists into his hair, making him pause by San’s knee, groaning softly against it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hears San say, just barely audible over the music.

Wooyoung tilts his cheek to give the inside of his knee a kiss, hoping that’s enough of an answer. San didn’t say where or how many times Wooyoung was allowed to kiss him, did he? San’s grip remains tight in his hair, probably ruining the styling Wooyoung had put into it, but the sting of it is a sweet payoff, and San doesn’t tug him back when he begins to press more kisses up the inside of his thigh, the leather growing warmer and warmer as he nears the vee of San’s legs.

It’s nice under the table. Dark, cozy. If it isn’t thick enough to muffle the sounds he’ll make, he’s sure the music will take care of it.

He’s not sure if San is saying anything else, but he continues to let Wooyoung explore, leaving more open-mouthed kisses over the shape of his dick in his pants. He’s stiff, impossibly hot. Wooyoung licks his lips as he undoes the front laces, and San doesn’t stop him from that either, simply keeping a grip on his hair as Wooyoung loosens his pants, confirms his suspicions that San isn’t wearing anything underneath, and slips out his cock.

Maybe it’s just the darkness under the table fucking with him, but San feels thicker like this, filling up his palms well. Wooyoung lifts him so he can press a coquettish kiss to the underside of it, then another. San remains tense as he works his way up to the tip with more soft kisses, bringing San to full hardness, and it’s only there that he regrets he can’t really see the shape of San’s cock when he knows how pretty it is.

He wraps his lips loosely over the tip, like a half-hearted kiss. He lets the heady taste fill his tongue as he starts to suckle on it gently, barely taking it into his mouth before dragging his lips off. He tilts his head into it like he’s really kissing San’s lips, moaning breathily and delighting in the way he can barely hear himself over the music. That means it also masks the slick sounds of him purposefully drooling around San’s cock so he can get the rest of it wet enough to stroke.

This must be how San feels when he says Wooyoung drives him insane, he thinks, because he can’t get enough. San’s heavy and so fucking thick on his tongue that Wooyoung wonders how he hasn’t once sucked him off since they started this again, because he used to think this five years ago and still thinks it now: he could spend all night here, just sucking and lapping at him, holding him in his mouth like a good little cocksleeve.

The thought makes him moan again, sinking a little deeper past San’s tip as he reaches down to palm himself. He can’t believe he’s about to ruin his panties before he even gets San properly in his mouth, but there was a slim chance of them ever surviving the night, anyway. He pulls off lazily to kiss along San’s length again, damp and messy, his lip gloss all but rubbed off by now, until San tightens his hand in his hair again.

Old memories resurface: San doesn’t want him off, he wants him to stop teasing.

Too bad, Wooyoung thinks gleefully, wrapping his lips back around the tip with every intent to keep suckling there until he really does drive San out of his mind, but then he suddenly hears Mingi’s voice call, “San-ah!”

San straightens up quickly except he doesn’t let go of Wooyoung’s hair, and Wooyoung gags as he’s suddenly given a mouthful of San’s dick. He gurgles around its thickness, hands fumbling for a grip on San’s calves.

The table shakes a little as two more sets of legs join them, one pausing at the end of the booth and the other sliding into the seat. Thankfully, both are far away enough that Wooyoung doesn’t have to worry about them bumping into his shoulders, because he can’t go anywhere with San’s fucking death grip on his hair.

Yunho’s voice is there too. Talking about needing a ride back? Wooyoung’s eyelids lull downwards as his throat flutters around San’s cock, faintly aware of the drool eking out from his tongue trapped between its underside and his bottom lip. He remembers to breathe through his nose, but it’s sweet, so sweet, the struggle to inhale when the slightest movement makes tears well up in his eyes and his throat convulse—

San lets go. Wooyoung pulls off with a wet gag, fingers digging tightly into San’s calves as he fights back a cough. His lips feel like a mess, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears as he gulps in air with San’s cock resting heavily against his cheek.

Yunho’s still talking. Wooyoung doesn’t understand a single thing he says, nor can he see much of San from this angle—he only knows that he can see San’s other hand clenched by the pile of coats beside him and that he’s still between San’s legs, that San’s cock is still there, hard and insistent against his face.

He feels reverent. He shuffles forward again to mouth breathlessly at the base once more, but this time San’s hand really does yank him off, forcing him back far enough to torture him with the heat of San’s cock, but not close enough to dart his tongue out and lick. Frustrated, Wooyoung contents himself with stroking San, until San’s other hand comes down to snatch his wrist tightly too.

Too bad. Wooyoung just replaces it with his other hand, and then San doesn’t have enough to hold both of his hands and his mouth back at the same time.

“Yeah, you wanna go get Seonghwa-hyung, and then we can go?” San’s saying. He sounds breathless.

“What about Wooyoungie?” he hears Mingi say. “He came here with us.”

“He went to the bathroom,” San says tersely. “He had a few drinks too after all, I was just gonna bring him home with me.”

“Okay, but if you see him, can you just let him know we’re hitching a ride with Yeosang?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

After what feels like an eternity, Mingi and Yunho finally disappear again, and so does the hand in his hair. San grabs his other wrist and squeezes until Wooyoung’s forced to let go of his cock with a whine, falling back a little when San shoves him back. Through the dark, he can see San’s short, stiff movements as he stuffs himself back into his pants and laces them up. Wooyoung grins, wiping his hands off on San’s shins before smoothing them through his hair, easing the knots out. Then he slips back out from the table.

San is digging through the pile of coats, looking furious.

God, that’s satisfying. “Do I look okay?” Wooyoung purrs, nuzzling into his arm until San exhales a ragged breath and turns to him.

“You look like you’ve been choking on dick all night,” San says tightly. “That what you wanna hear, Youngie?”

Wooyoung giggles. “You sound a little mad, San-nie.”

He gets something shoved into his hands. His jacket, he realizes—technically San’s, but whatever. “Get out of the booth,” San says.

“Let me put my jacket on first,” Wooyoung says, clicking his tongue, and San looks about two seconds away from grabbing him by the hair again, but he seems to remember that no one else would recognize their little game besides them. Wooyoung takes his time shrugging the jacket on, lingering just to lick at his lips and savor the aftertaste of San.

He’s finally out when Yunho rejoins them with Seonghwa, both of them looking a little flushed in the cheeks. “Aw, too bad we didn’t get to toast, Wooyoungie,” Yunho says, wrapping him up in a mournful hug.

“I know,” Wooyoung says, slurring his words together too for effect. “Next time, though!”

Then San is tugging him over by the back of his jacket with a rough, “Let’s get you two home.”

Yunho’s clearly more faded than Seonghwa, but they both look too drunk and caught up in each other to really look closely at Wooyoung’s state of disheveledness and the faintly feral gleam to San’s gaze. Once in San’s car, they start getting a little handsy in the backseat, and Wooyoung’s left to sit in the passenger’s side, regretting that he can’t just reach over and suck San off.

It turns out that Seonghwa and Yunho have managed to rent out a little flat downtown, not too far away from where San’s staying. San has to help Yunho out of the car, but when Wooyoung goes to open his door too, San gives him a look that communicates stay right fucking there pretty well.

So Wooyoung waits. Some generic pop station’s been blaring on the radio the whole ride, but it feels dissatisfyingly quiet when he’s alone in there.

He’s fiddling with the controls when San finally comes back. San doesn’t say a word as he climbs in and he starts buckling his seatbelt, not until Wooyoung reaches for him across the gear shift.

San catches him by the wrist before he can touch his thigh again. He’s put on his gloves, made of gleaming leather just like his pants, but his grip is just as firm, his fury spelled out in plain sight now that they’re alone. 

Before the car lights flicker off, Wooyoung sees that he’s still hard.

“Did you go out there like that?” he comments lightly. “Poor Sannie. If you let me finish back there, maybe you wouldn’t’ve had this problem.”

San’s eyes are dark. He looks like he’s considering doing a host of things, all Wooyoung wishes he would, but he settles on saying, “Tell me your safeword, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate: “Rain.”

In the same movement, San releases his wrist and shoves him back into his seat. “Put your seatbelt on.”

Wooyoung grins the entire time.

At the hotel, San parks in the parking garage so they can slip in without having to go through the lobby. It’s significantly less busy now, a nearby clock informing Wooyoung that it’s just past two AM, and only the security guard by the private elevator gives them a cursory once-over.

“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Choi,” she says.

San doesn’t answer. He swipes a card and punches the button for his floor, and then the doors glide shut, leaving Wooyoung finally alone with him.

“Sannie,” he murmurs, and he and all three sides of his reflection around the elevator lean towards San. 

San seizes him by the cheeks. It’s a punishing grip, his thumb and middle and ring fingers digging into the hollow of Wooyoung’s cheeks until Wooyoung’s forced to part his lips with a little sound.

San’s gaze drifts downwards. Wooyoung hopes he’s considering using his mouth again. “Still want this?” San murmurs instead, his fingers easing for a moment.

Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Do your worst.”

The elevator bell rings, the doors open, and San pushes him forward. Wooyoung stumbles, backing away as San stalks forward from the disappearing light of the elevator. It’s the vicious edge of his gaze that makes Wooyoung’s leg wobble on one step, causing him to crumple to the floor.

“Get up,” San says, shrugging off and tossing his jacket aside. When Wooyoung doesn’t move fast enough for his liking, he reaches down and tangles his gloved fingers into Wooyoung’s hair and yanks. “Get up, you dumb fucking slut.”

Yeah. Yeah, that’s good— Wooyoung follows the delicious burn upwards, until he’s half held up by San’s fingers and half by his flimsy grip on the island.

“Take that jacket off,” San says, disdained. “Who said you could wear my shit, huh?”

Wooyoung licks his lips. “You did.”

San slaps him. He doesn’t put enough strength in for it to hurt, just enough to make a distinct sound and leave a sharp, sweet ringing in his cheek, and Wooyoung feels his blood sing. “Take it off,” San repeats.

Wooyoung relents, but slowly— has to, with the way San doesn’t let go of his hair, only adjusting every time Wooyoung tries to subtly shift to alleviate the pressure. He holds San’s gaze as he slips his arms free, holding the jacket silently as he waits for San to say something else.

Instead, San’s eyes rake downwards in appraisal. It occurs to Wooyoung faintly that they haven’t had the chance to see each other in decent lighting; the penthouse lighting is still pretty shitty with only the kitchen lights on, but San takes his time anyway, lingering especially long on Wooyoung’s exposed neck.

Wooyoung thrums with anticipation, wondering if he’s looking at the choker or the sash. “Like what you s—”

Another slap. His head moves with it, but then San’s hand is there, wrenching him back by the hair. San doesn’t look the slightest bit affected, almost bored of it, positioning Wooyoung to face him again while he resumes whatever the fuck he’s doing. Exploring, maybe, though he hasn’t done much to show for it. Wooyoung squirms as San’s attention travels downwards, until a gloved hand slips beneath his shirt to settle on his hip, thumbing at his waistband.

Wooyoung immediately reaches down to bat his hand away. “That’s—”

San slaps him again, and Wooyoung grits his teeth hard and forces himself to exhale through his nose. He loves and hates how well San still knows him, all the easiest ways to make him tick. “Slow learner,” San says, clicking his tongue. “You were the one offering yourself to me earlier, weren’t you? Let me look.”

“That was before I remembered you’re an asshole,” Wooyoung bites out.

“I don’t know. I think you like this.” San suddenly reaches down to palm him through his pants, and Wooyoung stutters on a breath, hands flying to clamp around San’s forearm but unable to stop his hips from bucking forward reflexively. San chuckles derisively, and he goes on to fondle Wooyoung anyway, until Wooyoung’s fighting back gasps in earnest. “You’re so hard already, Youngie. You get off on this, don’t you?” San smiles, crowding him further against the island as he rubs his cock through the leather, paying no mind to Wooyoung’s fingers clawed into his arm. “Can’t tell if you’re fighting it or trying to hump my hand.”

“Trying to feel something,” Wooyoung pants. “Your hand’s so fucking small.”

He squeaks when San squeezes him hard, rubbing his cock firmly against lace. “I always forget how much of a size queen you are, baby,” San says silkily, not taking the bait. “Never satisfied ‘til there’s something splitting your tight little ass open, huh? Don’t worry, I can fix that for you.”

San steps back and releases him everywhere but the hair, using the grip to drag Wooyoung along. Dazed from the sting and the ghost of San’s touch around his cock, he stumbles after him, eyelids fluttering as San pushes and pulls him to his liking. He’s barely aware of them leaving the kitchen, stepping into the open space of the living room where San has cleared a space near the window for—

San lets him hesitate in the middle of the living room to take it in, nosing incessantly at the back of his neck. “Something wrong?”

“Y- You’re—” Wooyoung casts one look at the machine before twisting around to face him, eyes widened for effect. “You’re going to put that inside me?”

San’s gaze darts to him, sharp eyes searching through his expression. Wooyoung maintains the wide-eyed look, the shallow breathing through his mouth, and lets his gaze fall just once to the pretty curve of San’s mouth.

It’s all San needs to know. “Yeah, I am,” he murmurs, breath tickling Wooyoung’s cheekbone. “And you’re going to like it.”

San pushes him up against the bench, forcing him to plant both hands on the leather seat for balance while San sneaks a hand around to start undoing the buttons of his shirt. Wooyoung fixes his eyes on the window, making out the faint outlines of their reflection in the glass before the city overtakes it. They’re too high up for anyone to see, but the vast size of the windows makes the room feel breathtakingly open. Exposing.

“You’re shaking,” San says against his neck. “That excited?”

Wooyoung doesn’t say a word, afraid that he’ll break too soon. He presses his lips together hard, jolting when San slaps the side of his ass and tells him to, “Be useful and get your shirt open.” He starts to pick up where San left off, but shit, San was right, he is shaking, unsteadily working the rest of the buttons free until the satin falls loose and open. He hunches forward when the chilly apartment air runs across his chest, seeking the fabric for warmth, but San clicks his tongue and yanks on the back of it, dragging it past his shoulders and down his arms. Wooyoung yelps as he’s exposed further, locking his arms against his chest in an effort to protect himself from the chill.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” San scoffs, tugging his hands away to run a hand up his stomach. There’s a lingering coldness in the leather of his gloves too, and Wooyoung hisses at it.

“Your hands are fucking freezing,” he seethes, fighting to get his wrists free and managing to elbow San backwards. “Get o—”

He chokes on his words when San shoves two fingers into his mouth, pressing in and down.

“Yeah? Then warm them up for me like a good little bitch,” San breathes, scraping his teeth over the soft skin of his shoulder. 

Wooyoung moans at the name, until San thrusts his fingers in and makes him gag again. Fuck, he’s drooling, saliva dripping down San’s fingers and his own chin as San chokes him on them. Dimly, he’s aware of San yanking his pants down, almost bringing down his panties with it.

“Fucking hell.” San lands his other hand in a firm smack against one of his cheeks and keeps it there, squeezing him hard. Wooyoung gurgles around his fingers when San spreads him and causes the lace to brush over his hole, old instincts prompting him to try to raise his leg and brace it against something.

“Yeah, look at you,” San mutters, squeezing his other cheek roughly enough that Wooyoung’s afraid that the lace is going to tear, “trying to spread your legs for me already? Little slut, you want it that bad?”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer, too preoccupied when San suddenly shoves his fingers in the deepest they’ll go and refusing to stop even when Wooyoung’s throat convulses, tears welling at his eyes—

“Didn’t you hear me, you stupid fucking whore?” San growls, slipping out his fingers to grip his jaw and force him to look at him over his shoulder. “Tell me how much you want it.”

Wooyoung pants for breath against him, slack in his hold. He catches a glimpse of San’s chiseled jaw, his pretty profile, his cunning, catlike eyes.

Wooyoung takes a breath, gathers up the saliva left pooling in his mouth, and spits at him.

San’s face? Priceless.

“You little—”

A giggle bubbles out of his mouth, and maybe it’s a little delirious, and maybe he doesn’t even have his victory for long before San’s other hand comes back to smear the saliva he wiped off his own cheek on Wooyoung’s face with a promise of, “You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung slurs, aware of San moving behind him, but he pays no mind and catches one of San’s lingering fingers between his teeth, biting down hard. 

He hears San curse, and then his fingers are hooking behind Wooyoung’s teeth and trying to force his jaw open and Wooyoung isn’t letting him, the leather only making it easier to hold on, and he’s on the verge of another giggle when San, fed up, slaps his ass hard enough to make him gasp. San’s fingers slip free of his teeth, and Wooyoung barely has time to regret their loss before San yanks the back of his panties aside and shoves two slick fingers into him.

Wooyoung chokes on a moan, arms bucking against the bench as San pushes in all the way to the base of his knuckles. It takes him a moment to realize San is still wearing his gloves, the leather only making his fingers feel so much thicker when he starts fucking Wooyoung open on them. “Sh- Shit, San,” he gasps, trying to turn and see if he really is still clothed, only to be shoved down by the back of his neck.

“You don’t get to fucking look at me,” San snarls, forcing him further forwards. He’s nearly bent over the bench now, his cock trapped between the sloped side of it and his belly, struggling to bite back his gasps each time San pounds his fingers in. It sounds too slick, too messy for San to just be using his spit alone, and Wooyoung realizes when he feels thin rivulets gliding down the insides of his thighs that San’s pouring lube right over his ass.

“Asshole,” he utters, frustrated. “You’re gonna ruin my clothes.”

“What, this little thing?” San says, sneering, pulling his fingers out to wrench his panties further aside before slamming his fingers back in. It’s messy, it’s noisy, it’s stretching him so open and it feels so good. “They were already ruined before I even got your pants off, Youngie, bet you’ve been dripping in them all fucking night. Huh? Were you touching yourself under that table earlier, getting off on choking on my dick in front of our friends?”

“H— ah,” Wooyoung moans as San draws all the way out then pushes three fingers in, the leather making it feel like four, “f- fuck, yeah.” 

“Yeah? I fucking knew it.” San laughs, short and breathless. “Always been that way—acting out, being a little tease, anything to get some attention on you. Eager to impress anyone who looks your way, even if it means acting like a slut.” His arm suddenly speeds up, and Wooyoung’s left to cry out and hold himself up on the bench while San’s fingerfucking becomes ruthless. 

“San,” he gasps, and San’s other hand grips his hair again and yanks him back, forcing him to arch as he screws his fingers in deeper.

At this point, Wooyoung thinks hazily, San wouldn’t even need the machine, wouldn’t even need his cock, he’s just going to make him unravel here, just like this, his legs spread around his hands and rutting against leather while San—

“Nn— ah!” Wooyoung squeals at the force of his orgasm, cock spurting where it’s still trapped against his belly, drenching the lace of his panties. “Oh, g- god,” he cries out when San doesn’t stop, clawing at the leather seat in an attempt to buck away from the pressure on his dick and only being shoved back forward by San’s fingers still buried in his ass. Still reeling from his orgasm, Wooyoung can’t push back, cheeks burning aflame at the sensation of his front drenched in his cum.

“Oh, that was easy.” San laughs, sounding absolutely gleeful. He thrusts his fingers in once, twice, making Wooyoung keen, and then he shoves in as far as he can go like he’s plugging him up and murmurs in his ear, “Real fucking easy, Wooyoung.”

“Thought you were gonna fuck me,” Wooyoung says breathlessly. He has to force his trembling legs to stay still so San’s fingers press against his prostate as little as possible, oversensitivity hedging at his nerves.

San laughs again. “You think I’m done with you?”

He yanks Wooyoung’s pants off the rest of the way and all but manhandles him onto the bench. Wooyoung squirms half-heartedly, but his limbs are still buzzing and San is still stronger, and eventually San gets his arms and legs in place on the smaller cushions. “Wait,” he manages to remember, reaching backwards clumsily as San starts to strap one of his legs in, pawing at his own panties.

San scoffs. “Lift your leg.”

Wooyoung grabs onto the cushion for balance as he lifts his leg, allowing San to slip his panties off, but with his other leg already strapped in there’s really nowhere for it to go. The flush in his cheeks worsens when he feels San just let it dangle from the crook of his other leg, the lace brushing the back of his knee too delicately for the way San spreads his thighs and straps his other calf down.

“There you go, baby,” San murmurs, and he’s there the whole while, a warm presence behind Wooyoung’s spread legs. He reaches down to cup Wooyoung’s cock, shushing Wooyoung when he whimpers, and guides it into the cocksleeve beneath the cushion.

It’s really almost too much. The satin is smooth and cool to touch, but San hadn’t bothered to wipe off his cock before slipping it in, and now he can feel the inside lining soaking with his cum. Then he feels it—there’s something firm at the end of the sleeve, a smooth little bump that he doesn’t remember from the assembly.

He feels San’s hand brushing inexplicably up his spine. “San—”

There’s a soft click, and then the object thrums to life against his cock, making him jerk so suddenly that he might’ve fallen off if not for San pressing him down onto the cushion, bracing him there. His hands instinctively find the armrests, grasping at them when San fucking rolls his hips against his ass and nudges Wooyoung forward, pressing the tip of his sensitive cock against the vibrating bullet, and Wooyoung makes his most desperate sound yet.

“T- Too soon, San, turn it off—”

San, miraculously, listens to him, and Wooyoung lets out a half breath, half sob of relief, slumping over the cushion. “Take that as a warning,” San says lowly. “Be good or I'll leave it on all night.”

The threat makes him tremble. Wooyoung doesn’t promise anything, but he doesn’t bite back either, just tucking his chin back down in a show of submission. Without the headrest in place, his head lolls loosely off the edge of the cushion while San fixes the buckles over his arms, then his torso.

And then he’s bound, just like he wanted.

Whatever impression he had from last night, however it felt trying it on for the first time, they’re nothing compared to how he feels now, strapped down with his knees spread for anyone to see, his aching cock stuffed into a soft, wet sleeve, his hole trying to clench down on nothing.

“God, Wooyoung,” he hears San mutter. “You were made for this.”

Warm, viscous liquid drips onto his ass. Lube, he realizes faintly. Then there’s San’s hand, still gloved, running appreciatively over the swell of one cheek before brushing over his stretched hole. Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop trembling, to erase all evidence of how close San is to ruining him, while San seems content to explore, trailing lube everywhere he goes.

Wooyoung doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, just running his hands over his ass over and over like he’s some kind of masseuse. He realizes belatedly that this is just going to encourage San’s fixation with his ass, and he’s proven right when San gives him a wet little smack, seemingly just to see his cheek bounce. Worse, he can feel his cock twitching in interest again.

But he can’t do anything about it. All he can do is strain against the straps with how well they’d adjusted them to fit the night before—he’s completely at San’s mercy like this, just spread out for whatever San wants to do, and his cock’s starting to fill up again just at the thought of it.

San squeezes his ass again, and Wooyoung’s patience fractures. “San, fucking do something.”

He feels San pause, one hand still pensively resting on his ass.

A moment later, the vibrator comes back to life.

“N- No,” Wooyoung says, horrified by the way it invites heat back into his cock, too much too fast. His hips twitch backwards instinctively to get away from it, only for the restraints to keep him in place, and— “No,” he breathes again when he realizes the full extent of San’s power like this, “no, you f- fucking— fuck!”

“You know, you’ve been mouthy all night, Wooyoung,” San says mildly. There’s something hot and wet rubbing at one of his cheeks— San’s cock, he thinks deliriously, and yes, yes, that’s what he wants, not this buzzing against his cock that makes him clench down and feel so fucking empty. “You don’t think you should show me some more respect when you’re the one spread open like this?”

The vibrations stop again. Despite himself, Wooyoung’s body jerks at the loss, hips thrusting mindlessly into the sleeve like it misses it.

“Well?” San says, nestling the length of his cock between the valley of his ass. He thrusts lazily a few times, the lube making the slide much slicker, and Wooyoung clenches involuntarily every time the tip catches on his rim, like it’s trying to goad him in. “Anything to say to me, Youngie?”

“You haven’t earned it,” Wooyoung cries out.

“Hm,” San says. 

Wooyoung feels him prod the tip against his hole firmly, and that’s all the warning he gets before San is pushing in, in, hands clamping down on his hips as he feeds every inch of his cock into his hole, and it never seems to matter how long or how many fingers San fucks him open with before, he always feels so fucking big.

“Mmh, fuck,” San breathes, rolling his hips in until Wooyoung feels his pelvis flush with his ass. Wooyoung whimpers, his toes curling helplessly in the air. “Change your mind yet?”

“Fuck you,” Wooyoung mumbles.

San clicks his tongue, drawing his cock back out in one long, delicious slide, and Wooyoung hears the little telltale click a split second before the vibrations start up in time with San slamming in, and Wooyoung screams.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears San moan above him, fingers digging in bruisingly tight into his hips as he stutters on the first few thrusts, making Wooyoung shriek when it pushes his cock more firmly into the vibrator. “Knew I could get you to scream, baby.”

Wooyoung’s no stranger to rough sex. He loves when it hurts, loves giving but loves taking even more, loves being held down and made to take it until every coherent thought’s been fucked out of his head, and maybe there’ve been some close contenders over the years but none who know him as well as San. No one can fuck him as well as San, and it’s like San knows this, like he’s trying to remind Wooyoung of that exact fact, and—

Wooyoung can’t deny it. He can’t, and he’s tired of trying to, of pretending that anyone can even come remotely close to San—in so, so many ways but right now especially in the way San begins to fuck him so hard that he’s drooling by a few thrusts in.

“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “Your hole’s taking me so fucking well, Wooyoung, fuck.”

It sounds like he doesn’t care, doesn’t care at all that Wooyoung’s thrashing against him, tensing up so tight that it makes his head spin. San fucks him with short, sharp thrusts, and Wooyoung has nowhere to go, unable to clamp his thighs shut from San’s cock, and he loves it. Maybe he’s trying to beg for it, but the vibrator is pressing against the underside of his tip just right and San’s starting to angle his thrusts right for his prostate, and he can’t. His mouth’s open, but all the sounds he can make are pathetic little “ah, ah, ah”s as San fucks him right into a second orgasm.

It’s good, it hurts and it’s so good, ripped out of him with a wail, and San doesn’t stop fucking him or turn off the vibration, just fucking moans above him and ruts into him a little faster.

“P- Please,” Wooyoung croaks, the tears spilling over, and God knows how he much of a slut must look with his eyeliner running. “You have to s- slow down, it’s too—”

San chuckles breathlessly. “Shut the fuck up,” he breathes, clamping his hand down on the back of his neck, and Wooyoung wails when he just fucks him harder.

Every time San pounds in, his cock’s forced into the soaked mess he’s made of the sleeve, his tip skating against the curve of that vibrator. He’s vaguely aware that San has turned it down, but it doesn’t matter, it’s like the vibrations are still cycling through him, making his veins feel like livewire.

“Gonna make me cum,” San pants, landing a sharp smack into one side of his ass. “Yeah, fuck, tighten up just like that— gonna fucking fill you up—”

Wooyoung realizes faintly that if San cums, then he’ll be finished, and he’ll take his cock out and turn the vibrations off, and the onslaught will finally end. “Do it,” he begs, desperate for a reprieve. He convinces himself this is the only reason he whines, the only reason he clenches down deliberately on San’s thick cock and tries to writhe back on the delicious stretch. “W- Want you to cum, Sannie. Cum in m- me, fill me up.” 

“Mm, not convinced, baby.” San slaps the other side of his ass, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious thrust. “Ask me to fuck you harder, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Harder? But—

“B- But,” Wooyoung’s dizzy, so fucking dizzy, fingers twitching gracelessly as San fucks him against the bench, “you’ll b- break m- me—”

“Yeah,” San groans, low and guttural, and then he’s draping himself over Wooyoung’s back, pressing him down on the bench as his rhythm starts to speed up unevenly. “Beg just like that, Youngie, ah, fuck— ask me to split you open with my cock.”

Wooyoung's mouth falls open on an especially hard thrust, and he tries to say no again, he just gasps, drools. San's fucking him so hard, so deep, and it's so good, but he can't anymore, he just needs San to cum. “Ha- ah, harder!” he sobs, grasping at anything, everything, aware of how much he sounds like something out of the exact videos he used to watch of people being fucked mindless like this but too gone to care. “F- Fuck me, fuck me harder, please, Sa—nnie, m- make me take it—”


He cries out again when San shoves in as deep as he can go, and he swears San moves the bench a little too, yanking him down onto his cock as far as the restraints will let him go while San creams him. “Please,” Wooyoung’s still crying, legs shaking where he’s been fighting to twist them shut, “th- the— t- turn it off—”

The vibration eases to a stop. San thrusts lazily through his orgasm, running his hands up and down Wooyoung’s back, and Wooyoung sniffles into the cushion as he feels San’s cock painting his insides in warm, thick spurts. His walls flutter when San pulls out, clenching on a new emptiness and inadvertently spilling cum down his thighs. His thighs can’t stop twitching. He feels like a bundle of static, sparking at the slightest touch.

He can feel San moving, doing something behind him, but it’s all hazy, time falling thick and syrupy around him. A moment later, something firm prods at his hole, and he sighs, eager for the plug to slip in and chase out that empty feeling once more.

There’s movement by his cheek—he lifts his head blearily, and San is there to support him by the underside of his chin. He’s shirtless, hair mussed, the front of his leather pants open just enough for his cock, and he’s smiling down at Wooyoung. Wooyoung smiles back, fuzzy, thinking he could kiss him. “Thank you,” he slurs.

A beat.

“Oh, baby,” San coos. “Do you think I’m done with you?”

Slow, late to realize, Wooyoung’s smile tapers off. “Nnh…?”

“I must’ve really fucked you stupid, huh?” San says wonderingly, and Wooyoung has a moment to think, oh, how can Sannie be holding the plug if he’s here, and then he sees the wired controller in San’s hands just as he flicks the dial.

Behind him, the machine whirs to life. The prodding at his hole becomes pushing, and Wooyoung’s mouth falls open in shock when the silicone cock breaches him long and slow, pushing in until he swears he feels it in his stomach.

And then — it doesn’t need to wait, he thinks distantly, it doesn’t feel, it doesn’t care — it starts to slide all the way back out, then push in again.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. You wanted this, didn’t you?” San switches from holding him up by the chin to holding him up by the hair, his fingers finding a grip there that’s starting to feel like home. Wooyoung just continues to stare up at him, dumbstruck, a little confused, a little betrayed as the fuck machine splits him open. San clicks his tongue and slaps his cock against his cheek. “Now clean me up, baby. You made such a mess.”

He doesn’t do much, but his mouth’s already open, so San just takes advantage of that to slide his cock in. Wooyoung’s eyes threaten to roll back as San bottoms out at the same time as the machine—it must be on the slowest setting, but it just serves to make him feel every inch dragging along his walls, scraping his prostate simply because it can’t not.

His cock twitches, spent in the satin sleeve. It throbs at the slightest movement but the position is comfortable at least, and the machine doesn’t have the bulk of a human body to press up against his ass and force him to rut into the sleeve. He just has to stay still, yes. Stay still, relax so it doesn’t press against his prostate so much, and let San clean himself off on his tongue, and he can coast along that line of equilibrium, floating in perfection.

“That’s it,” San praises, brushing back his hair from his forehead. “Tongue out, eyes up.”

Wooyoung’s tongue lolls out, and his gaze flutters upwards. He sees double, a little, but he’s not sure why.

“Oh, Youngie,” San says, slapping his cock wetly on the broadest part of his tongue before feeding it back through his lips. “You really are just a dumb little slut.”

Yours, Wooyoung wants to say. It’s muffled around San’s cock, which, even when soft, fills him up so well. San treats him so well.

San fucks his mouth leisurely. It’s nice, because San doesn’t seem to mind that he has to mostly hold Wooyoung’s head up and the bench bears the rest of his weight so readily. He’s starting to get used to his legs being spread like this, his hole spread open with it, the relentless stretch as he’s fucked open at a pace that won’t, can’t, falter. Sometimes he thinks it goes a little faster, but it’s probably just his imagination playing tricks, taking advantage of the way time feels like satin cloaked around him.

“Sannie,” he rasps at some point San pulls out, blinking hazily up at him.

San is hard again. Wooyoung’s been feeling it in his mouth for some time, but it’s nice to see too, the way his thick cock curves against his toned stomach. San wraps a hand around it, and Wooyoung didn’t mean what he said earlier, he thinks his hands are just the perfect size, looking so pretty as he strokes himself in front of Wooyoung’s face. “Yeah, baby?” San hums.

What did he say before? Wooyoung should show him respect. “Can you cum on my face this time?” he asks, nicely, through the soft hiccups the machine fucks out of him. “Please?”

San’s eyes are so dark. He looks like he maybe wants to devour Wooyoung whole, and Wooyoung thinks he’d let him, offer himself up on the altar of this bench all night.

“I don’t know,” San says. He swipes his thumb over the head of his own cock with a soft sigh, then rubs it against Wooyoung's wet cheek. “Do you think you deserve it?”

This question again. He squirms, hating the way San makes him answer it. Can’t San be the one to decide that? Shouldn’t he be? God knows how long Wooyoung’s spent trying to impress him, to be good for him, to be good enough.

“I,” he begins uncertainly. The drone of the machine goes on, sliding in and out of him relentlessly, and it’s a little hard to think. Is he? Does he deserve it? There’s a nasty, ugly creature inside of him that has an answer. But— “But I want it,” he whispers, slumping, because everything is so fuzzy except this one simple thing that maybe San will forgive him for. “I j- just want you, Sannie.”

He’s surprised when he doesn’t find disappointment in San’s eyes at all; San looks proud, like he’s won something, and Wooyoung doesn’t really have time to think about it because then San’s kneeling down to his level and giving him a kiss.

Oh. Wooyoung’s fingers curl instinctively around nothing, and he kisses him back.

It’s sweet. Dirty. He thinks he should feel dirty when he’s still fettered against the bench like this, squelching and dripping with San’s cum around the machine that continues to drive into him, relentless, but San cups his face like he’s something precious, something regal, something worthy. He parts his lips willingly for San to taste, lost in the feeling for a moment and happy to stay that way.

Then, he really swears, the machine starts to move faster.

“San,” he whispers. “Sannie.”

San moans softly against his mouth. “Mm?”

“I- It’s,” Wooyoung says, realizing that he’s panting. How long has he been this out of breath? “It’s going f- fast.”

“It is,” San murmurs.

He squirms. San pulls away, and there’s still that glint returning to his eye, this character he wears well.

“I can’t,” Wooyoung tells him weakly. “I really c- can’t, Sannie.”

“You know your safeword, baby?” San says, voice gentle.

He shivers. “Y- Yes.” He does, he does.

“Then you can,” San says. He looks down at something, and Wooyoung sees the remote that’s been in his hands the whole time, the dial that San’s fingers are poised around. They twist it just the slightest bit, and Wooyoung gasps when the machine starts to piston into him the slightest bit faster.

“A- Ah,” he says, clawing lightly at the pads of the armrests. “Sannie, ‘s so— so—” He clenches a little too tightly, and the dildo thrusts right past his prostate, and he shudders bodily around the cushion. “Deep,” he mewls, struggling to keep his head up to look at San. “So— nngh, so good.”

“There you go,” San says soothingly, and he’s reaching to the side, loosening the bolt of the headrest where he’d positioned it out of the way. He slides it beneath Wooyoung’s head, and Wooyoung comes to rest his cheek on it with a small sniffle.

San really wants this. He really wants to ruin him.

“Good,” San says, sounding pleased as he locks the headrest in place. “Good boy, Youngie.”

Wooyoung’s cock jolts. It really shouldn’t, but the praise— it ripples through him like a sip of wine, settling somewhere deep and warm inside him, too deep for Wooyoung to cast out.

“You’ve been so good tonight, Young-ah,” San says, and Wooyoung doesn’t know why that makes tears spring faster to his eyes than when he was choking on San’s cock. “You’re always so good for me, you know that?”

“No I’m not,” he sniffs. “I—”

“You are,” San says firmly. His hand moves again, and the whirring grows louder, and Wooyoung gasps as the machine starts to fuck into him harder too. He can’t relax anymore, and that means its unforgiving girth starts to thrust right past his abused prostate each time, and his cock weeps.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whimpers, giving up, hoping that it’ll convince San to have mercy, “I- I am, I am, ‘m good, b- but I can’t—”

“Yes you can. Still have to give you my cum too, don’t I?” San says warmly. “Just let it happen, baby. You’re taking it so well.”

“Please just fuck me,” he rasps, jerking against the restraints at each lightning strike of pleasure, so painful and so sweet. “P- Please, ah, please fuck me, Sannie, I’ll do anything, I want your c- cock, please.”

To his relief, San looks like he might’ve actually convinced him, but just as San finally climbs back up to his feet, the elevator chimes.

Wooyoung’s stomach drops. No. No, no, no.

“Hm. I think I know who that is,” San says, like he doesn’t hear Wooyoung’s distressed cry. Wooyoung doesn’t have time at all to tell him to just send them away because San reaches for something off to the side and then shoves something into Wooyoung’s mouth.

Wooyoung moans around it, jerking against the machine. It’s one of San’s gloves. Why? Why would San do that, unless—

“No,” he whimpers, the syllable lost into the leather, and then he’s biting down on the material as one shift of his hips angles the dildo right up against his prostate. He keens around the glove, but San just doesn’t care, setting the two remotes down on the armrest right by Wooyoung’s left hand.

“I’ll be back,” San says, the fucking traitor, and then he’s tucking himself back into his pants and padding towards the elevator, grabbing something from the kitchen island on the way.

He can’t. He can’t really be doing this, he can’t. There’s no way whoever’s in there won’t see Wooyoung past him, won’t hear the machine’s rough pace and the lewd squelching of Wooyoung’s hole fluttering around it.

But the elevator door opens, and there’s Hongjoong’s voice, and San’s answering him, something about, oh, Wooyoung’s just cooking something, sounding so casual while Wooyoung presses his forehead hard into the headrest and tries not to make a single sound, and it’s so— he can’t, he can’t, his fingers scramble for the remotes, because maybe he can turn it down, just a little.

Eight, he sees, and he almost sobs at it, the fact that it isn’t even all the way up and he already feels delirious on it. He shifts desperately, trying to pull the remote closer to his hands, but the new angle of his body causes the machine to jab right against his prostate again and he chokes on a "Hhrk!" as his fingers knock both remotes clean off, landing facedown.

Two things happen at once—Wooyoung clamps down on the glove to fight off a scream when the vibrations come back on against his cock at the same time the machine switches to the highest setting, its thrusting becoming vicious, brutal, pounding him into the bench. His eyes roll back as his entire body locks up against it, his hole clenching down in a desperate attempt to get it out out out but the machine just fucks in anyway, forcing him to open up for it, and he cries miserably around the glove for San, Sannie, pleasepleaseplease, please help but there's no one and nothing except the unfettered thrusting of the machine. There’s even more slick running down his thighs, thick and so fucking messy, and of course it is, because the machine is railing him so hard that it’s fucking all of San’s cum right out of him, and he just has to take it, and— oh god, he thinks hysterically, he’s just going to keep taking it, because it doesn’t care how hard he cries and begs and pleads, it’s never going to stop fucking him for as long as he’s here—

“Oh, Wooyoungie,” San sighs, reappearing by his side. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Nn- nngh!” Wooyoung wails as soon as San pulls the glove free from his teeth. “H- Help me— ‘s too m- m- much!”

The world is shaking, the sheer force of the machine’s fucking almost enough to make his eyes cross and he’s going to look— he wants to sob, he’s really going to look like he’s being fucked stupid—

“I don’t know. Are you sure you didn’t do this on purpose?” San teases, taking his time undoing his pants again and bringing his cock out while Wooyoung tries not to lose his damn mind.

“No! N- No, didn’t, I didn’t!”

“Mmh, but you look good like this too. Look at your poor little ass, baby.”

Then there’s a hand, his bare hand, smoothing over Wooyoung’s ass and rubbing at the taut skin just above his rim, where he’s being stretched so fucking ruthlessly by the machine, and it’s so much. He’s trying to tell San this, but San clicks his tongue, telling him sensibly, “Don’t be selfish, Wooyoung. How many times have you cum? Three, four times? Let me use you now.”

“B- But—” He’s stammering too badly on every word. He can’t take it, the edges of his vision starting to blur with the overwhelming pleasure, fingernails digging into the armrests as he just pants and drools around its neverending thrusts—

And then it’s out, it’s gone, and he’s crying in loud, heaving sobs because he wants it back, but it’s like San can hear his wishes because his cock is right there again, pressing in and filling him up.

“Oh, fuck,” San groans, grinding in deep. “You feel so fucking sloppy inside, Youngie. Such a messy— ah, slut.”

“I can’t,” Wooyoung weeps. He jerks his hips back to get away from the vibrations but it just spears him harder on San’s cock, spurs San into fucking forward harder and nudging him right back against it, and Wooyoung shakes and shakes.

“Yeah, fuck, stay just like that, baby,” San praises breathlessly, and he just stops there, buried all the way into Wooyoung and pressing him right up against the vibrator, and Wooyoung lets out a wretched sob when he realizes what San means when he says: “You’re gonna milk my cock just like this.”

San doesn’t even have to fuck him. No, the vibrator’s going to get him there just fine, and Wooyoung— Wooyoung’s fluttering walls are going to be enough for San too, he’s just going to keep his cock hilted in Wooyoung like his own personal cocksleeve, and Wooyoung’s going to lie there and clench and twitch around him until he makes San cum inside—

Wooyoung thrashes hard against the restraints as he cums, and it’s dry this time, and it hurts so fucking good, and reality starts to spindle out of his grip fast. Above him, he hears San groan, feels the damning brand of heat splashing against his walls, and then he

opens his eyes to San crouched by his face, gently massaging his hand, calling his name.

“There you are,” San breathes, sounding relieved. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Mmh,” Wooyoung says.

He feels weightless. Weightless, but also grounded, a kite with his line in San’s warm, capable hands.

His tongue feels thick. “Wha’ happened?”

“You came so hard you passed out.” Over and over, San circles his thumbs over the back of his hand, lingering for a good few moments before he moves onto his other one.

“Makes sense,” Wooyoung slurs.

That gets a soft chuckle out of San. “I was worried for a second,” he murmurs. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Really good.” Aching, but so good. Thank god he had the foresight to call off for the weekend, because he doesn’t think his limbs are going to be useful anytime soon. As he becomes more aware of himself, he clenches down weakly to test just how sore he is, only to frown when he feels wetness trickle out of his hole, unstoppered. He lifts hazy eyes up to San. “Plug…?”

San blinks, looking caught off-guard. “I...” He bites his lip. Wooyoung sees just how messy his hair is this way, and he’s thrown by the different shade of handsome San is with his hair this short. Wooyoung lifts his hand lazily to touch him, and that’s how he finds out that the restraints have been undone. San touches his wrist lightly. “You don’t have to, sweetheart.”

Wooyoung closes his eyes, shakes his head. “In.”

He feels San press his lips to his forehead. He’s content to lie there while he listens to San move around.

“I’m putting it in,” San says, and Wooyoung hums in response, trying to relax as best as he can while San pushes the plug, gratuitously slicked up with lube, past his well-used rim.


“Can I move you to bed?” San returns to his front and presses another kiss to his forehead. That’s dangerous, Wooyoung thinks, he needs to tell him to stop doing it before he gets used to it. “Want you to be comfy.”

“I feel like jelly,” he huffs, turning his face into the headrest. “Fucked all my bones out, dummy. Don’t make me move.”

San chuckles. “I didn’t say you had to, baby. I’ll take us there.”

Wooyoung considers this. “Couch,” he decides.

That must be a good-enough compromise for San. They go slowly, San gently stretching out each of his limbs as he unfolds them from their rest, and Wooyoung tries not to dwell on that—on how gently San handles him now, how many kisses he presses to Wooyoung’s sweat-damp skin, even ridiculous places like his arm and his knee.

Maybe the couch doesn’t turn out to be a good idea after all, because it’s also leather, and Wooyoung feels so sticky all over. But San has brought over a blanket, and that’s what he wraps around them both, and Wooyoung feels a little like he’s back in San’s old room, hiding in the covers with him. All they need now is an atlas and a pen and a list of places they want to circle.

San just needs to ask, Do you ever think about leaving?  

Wooyoung just needs to answer, With you. All the time, with you.

“San-ah,” he whispers, grasping for him in the washed-out dark. He finds San’s chest, warm and solid, his heartbeat right beneath Wooyoung’s fingertips.

“I’m here,” San says quietly.

“The Halloween thing,” Wooyoung says. He can’t really remember, but he knows it’s there. “The party. Sunday.” He swallows. “Will you come with me? As my date?”

He feels San pause. God, it used to be such a frightening thing, the silences San would lapse into, but now that Wooyoung knows how to look a little better, he can tell which ones he doesn’t have to worry about.

“I’m not sure if you’re thinking straight, Youngie,” San says gently.

“But I am.” Wooyoung looks up at him. “You were right when you said I needed someone to straighten out all my overthinking.” He blinks. “M’not asking for anything more, Sannie. You don’t even have to say yes. Just...don’t wanna have to call you my friend, for one day, if I can.”

San works his piercing between his teeth pensively. “Only one day?”

“For now,” Wooyoung says. “Can be more, can be less. We don’t have to decide now.” However long you want to give me, he wants to say. However long you’d let me have. It’s been the answer to so many of San’s questions now and even back then, and Wooyoung always just wonders when, when he’ll finally be able to say it.

“I think I’d like that,” San says.

Hope. It springs up between Wooyoung’s ribs, watered by all this love Wooyoung thinks he keeps spilling. He couldn’t, can’t, keep it in if he tried. “You think?” he mumbles.

“I’d like that,” San amends solemnly.

“Better,” Wooyoung says. He shifts closer to San, tucking his leg over his. God, his ass feels so sore. “Will you kiss me too?”

San squeezes his hip. “If you want.”

Wooyoung nods, eager. It’s really been so long—maybe an hour? However long that was—an hour too long. “I do.”

San hums like an agreement, but then he doesn’t do anything, and Wooyoung frowns up at him. “Where is it?”


“My kiss,” he says.

“Oh,” San says. Is he blushing? “I thought you meant…on Sunday.”

“You thought I meant I was asking for a kiss two days away from now?” Wooyoung says.

“One day away, technically.”

“Shut it. Do either of those things sound like something I’d say?”

“I guess not,” San allows.

Wooyoung waits a beat, pursing his lips nervously. “Well? If you don’t do it, I’ll—”

San kisses him. Of course, Wooyoung kisses back.