Archive of Our Own

You get off.
You eat the shame for dessert.

— SUCCESSION, 1x08, "Prague"

 

 

get someone you love
get someone you need

(fuck that, get money)

i can’t give you my soul because we’re never alone
— SOMEBODY ELSE, the 1975 

 

Wonwoo sends Jihoon the text when he’s in the coat room at an industry party.

Jihoon would normally have no preclusion checking texts from Wonwoo, even when he’s with Soonyoung. Wonwoo is hardly the salacious texter; he’s never sent Jihoon any pictures where he was naked below his waist and the most adventurous he gets with dirty texting is I can’t wait to see you tonight.

All this to say: normally, Jihoon would have seen Wonwoo’s texts right away. But, see, normally, when Wonwoo texts him, Jihoon isn’t in the coat room at an industry party with Soonyoung, with his dick in Soonyoung’s hand and Soonyoung’s mouth on his chest.

Soonyoung is still fully dressed, all buttoned up right up to his collar. His tie is still knotted, if maybe slightly loosened. Jihoon, on the other hand, feels terribly exposed in comparison. His tie sits abandoned at his feet, and his shirt is unbuttoned all the way to his navel. That’s where Soonyoung is now; wet heat of his mouth on the stretch of taut skin between Jihoon's two pectoral muscles. And then, of course, Jihoon's dick is also out.

For the most part, they try not to mix business and pleasure. Parties like this are always basically work, for Jihoon and Soonyoung both. Just because they serve you drinks and hors d'oeuvres doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be taken seriously. But this particular party has more than passed its peak, and all the big wigs have had their drivers take them home, and Soonyoung had come to Jihoon with that mischievous look in his eye, and, well.

“Too dry,” Jihoon tells Soonyoung, referring to the circle of Soonyoung’s fist around Jihoon’s dick.

Soonyoung looks up from Jihoon’s chest to smile at him. “No problem,” he says. He kisses Jihoon, then, mouth turned up in a half-smile as he does.

It turns from the simple press of mouths to something much more heady very quickly. Before Jihoon knows it he’s breathing heavily, Soonyoung’s tongue in his mouth. Then it’s over just as quickly as it began. Soonyoung is looking at Jihoon and smiling as he lifts his hand to be level with Jihoon’s mouth, palm facing outwards.

Jihoon grimaces, knowing exactly what Soonyoung wants. He indulges him (of course, Soonyoung wouldn’t even ask if he wasn’t sure Jihoon could be easily influenced) and licks a stripe up Soonyoung’s palm, from his wrist to the base of his middle finger.

The slide of Soonyoung’s hand against Jihoon’s cock is better after that.

It’s still not great.

But it’s okay; Soonyoung distracts Jihoon from the slight burn of it with things like his soft wet mouth and the scratching of his nails against the skin of Jihoon’s torso, the sharp edge of one occasionally snagging on Jihoon's nipple.

That’s how Soonyoung makes Jihoon come: the hand on Jihoon’s cock finally feels just right for just long enough that Soonyoung pulls an orgasm out of him.

“How do you want it?” Jihoon asks, after Soonyoung has tucked him back into his pants and kissed him thoroughly. Jihoon slides his hands down to Soonyoung’s ass and squeezes.

Soonyoung’s request is, “can I come on your face?”

Of course, Soonyoung would decide that he wants to come on Jihoon’s face when they are technically in public. At work. Okay, it’s kind of hot, but Jihoon is still allowed to be annoyed. But will Soonyoung spend the rest of the night picturing his come painted across Jihoon’s face, while they’re out there mingling? Will Soonyoung picture it tonight, in his bed, kneading his cock with the heel of his hand?

Jihoon, once again, relents. He slips to his knees in front of Soonyoung and looks up, dutifully batting his eyelashes, and Soonyoung fists his own cock, aggressively chasing his own orgasm. When he finally shoots, it catches on Jihoon’s chin, splats across his cheekbone, and gets caught in his brow.

“Won’t you leave it on for me?” Soonyoung pouts, watching Jihoon clean himself off with the handkerchief he finds in Soonyoung’s pocket. When he’s finished, Jihoon crumples it up and shoves it back in the pocket of Soonyoung’s where he found it.

“Not in a million years,” Jihoon replies. Soonyoung slaps his ass on their way out of the coat room.

=

When Jihoon finally sees Wonwoo’s first text, it’s forty-five minutes old. There is a second text, as well. That one is from fifteen minutes ago.

Wonwoo: I’m having a private showing at a gallery tomorrow. It’s a party. I’d love for you to come. You can tell me if I’m overstepping.
Wonwoo: Nvm. Forget I asked.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. Already unsatisfied with the way this conversation might progress over text before it’s even started, Jihoon bypasses all that and calls Wonwoo instead.

“That sounds an awful lot like a date,” Jihoon says, in lieu of greeting.

“That’s why I told you to forget it,” Wonwoo’s dulcet tones float through the receiver, enticing even through the static and the slightly sleepy tinge to his words. Jihoon wonders what Wonwoo might have been doing before he called.

Jihoon sighs. “But it’s important to you, right?”

There is a long pause. Jihoon doesn’t rush Wonwoo for the response.

“Yes,” Wonwoo finally admits. “It’s important to me. And I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t be.” Jihoon responds. “I’ll come, and then after you’ve mingled with all the artsy-fartsy types, you can take me back to your apartment and I’ll blow you.”

The laugh that comes to Jihoon through the phone is short, like Wonwoo was waiting for the moment Jihoon would take this turn in the conversation. “Are you at home right now, Jihoon?”

“Just got in, actually,” Jihoon answers. “I haven’t even taken my shoes off yet.” It’s not a lie; Jihoon had taken a taxi home from the party, and he only remembered to look at Wonwoo’s texts right after he came through the door. He toes off his shoes now, though.

“You should take your shoes off,” Wonwoo tells him, voice almost fond. “You should take some other things off, too.”

Jihoon finds it so funny, the juxtaposition of Wonwoo, over text versus Wonwoo, in the flesh (well, almost in the flesh). Wonwoo’s a music journalist, for Christ’s sake, but for some reason words elude him in the context of his and Jihoon’s — well, it’s a relationship, technically, but Jihoon thinks that word gives the wrong impression.

Jihoon smirks. “Oh yeah?” Finished with his shoes and jacket, Jihoon collapses into his living room couch. He settles in, getting comfortable, prepared to be here for a little bit. “What else should I take off?”

“You had a thing tonight, yeah? So you’re wearing your suit jacket and button up?” Jihoon makes a noise of confirmation at Wonwoo’s questions.

“Already took the suit jacket off,” Jihoon hums, seductive.

“Okay. Then the button-up, that next. But do it slowly.”

Jihoon does as he’s told. He talks Wonwoo through the process of gently and purposefully sliding each of the buttons on his shirt open, until Jihoon is as exposed as he can be without actually removing his shirt. Just below his clavicle there’s a red mark, evidence of the press of Soonyoung’s teeth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m in bed,” is all Wonwoo says at first but then Jihoon makes a noise of discontentment and Wonwoo continues. “I’m only wearing my boxers. I’m trying to picture you. You’re on your couch, right? The bright red one with the slippy cushions. I hate that fucking couch. You can’t fuck on that couch.”

“Is your cock hard?”

“Yeah.”

“If I was there I’d sit on it.”

Wonwoo hisses. Jihoon imagines Wonwoo pressing his own palm against the growing bulge in his underwear.

“If you were here I’d get you on your hands and knees and fuck you from behind,” Wonwoo says it like a correction. Jihoons hums appreciatively. It’s not like he’s going to complain. He’ll let Wonwoo have him however he wants. “And then I’d come all over your ass.”

“Ah,” Jihoon can’t help the noise that escapes him. “That sounds hot.”

“Is your dick out?” Wonwoo asks.

“No,” Jihoon answers, continuing, “but it can be.”

Wonwoo tells Jihoon to do just that; for Jihoon to pull his own cock out and jerk himself off. Jihoon does as he’s told, listening to Wonwoo tell him just what he would do to Jihoon if he were with him, and Jihoon tells him what he’d do in return.

“After we leave the gallery tomorrow, you can fuck me,” Jihoon tells Wonwoo, the hand on his cock slowly speeding up. “However you want. You can put me on my hands and knees. I can ride you. You can come anywhere you want, too. On my ass, inside of me, on my face, down my throat.”

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo moans his name. It sends a bolt of electricity straight to Jihoon’s cock.

“Can’t wait for you to make me take every inch of your cock,” Jihoon continues, words getting breathier and groans getting harder to speak through.

“Like you were made for my cock,” there’s reverie in Wonwoo’s voice when he says it. It sounds like worship. Jihoon knows he shouldn’t enable it, but it’s hard when it’s all so hot. It’s hard when it’s just enough to make Jihoon come.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Jihoon speaks. “Yeah,” he tells Wonwoo, chest heaving, totally breathless. “Made for your cock,” and then Jihoon listens, still boneless, as Wonwoo follows him into the bottomless pit of post-orgasm glow.

=

It is important to make note that Jihoon does not think he’s, like, a good person.

There are a great many things he’s done in his life he thinks he deserves to be proud of, for sure; he’s a good producer, he has great time management skills and he works well under pressure. But he is not the type to delude himself into thinking he’s some moral pillar. A man without sin worthy of casting the first stone.

He made some bad decisions that got him into a bad situation. So, he’s indulging himself. So, he’s being a little selfish. So, whatever. People act like this all the time. People aren’t that simple, good people do bad things all the time. Bad people do bad things even more often.

Unfortunately, just because Jihoon doesn’t consider himself a very good person doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a conscience. And that, of course, is where things start to get sticky.

Jihoon justifies it, usually, with this: neither of them have ever asked. He’d tell them, he rationalises, if it came to that. If Soonyoung or Wonwoo said to him, is there someone else, he wouldn’t just lie to their faces. He’s not the type, not for that. But they don’t ask, and Jihoon lives with the reality of not lying but simply not volunteering information. Information that might change things. Or maybe it wouldn’t change anything. Who knows. Maybe Jihoon will find out one day.

Soonyoung’s reaction, honestly, doesn’t worry Jihoon that much. He is fairly certain of this.

He definitely cannot say he thinks the same for Wonwoo.

=

Wonwoo offers to pick Jihoon up for the showing. Jihoon politely declines. Something about Wonwoo being his transportation to and from the gallery feels a little too vulnerable. Something about the two of them showing up at the same time, emerging from the same vehicle, feels a little too intimate. That muddies the waters, the same way it would if Jihoon defined what he and Wonwoo had as a relationship.

(Which is funny, then, considering how Jihoon never worries about how it might look for him and Wonwoo to leave together.)

Jihoon takes a taxi to the gallery. He arrives nearly forty minutes late. He figures that puts him and Wonwoo on equal, unaffected footing again; they are finding themselves dangerously close to the precipice of A Date, here, but Jihoon was almost an hour late, so it can’t be. It’s about evening things out, in a situation like Jihoon’s. It’s about keeping everything fair. Things start to get complicated after you stop being fair.

Jihoon’s outfit is simple but elegant. A matching pair of pressed slacks and blazer in a dark maroon. Under the jacket is a plain black t-shirt, scoop necked and tucked into the slacks. He’s not sure if there will be anyone to network with here but — Jihoon could use the night off from . . . all of that.

The gallery is not quite packed but impressively full. Wonwoo is a decently decorated music journalist — but just because someone likes his articles doesn’t mean they’re invested in his other endeavours.

Wonwoo is heavily invested in his own other endeavours; he started taking his own photos for his articles years ago, and his eye for photography has been solidly sharpening itself for years, culminating in all of this.

A waiter, dressed in all black except a deep brown leather half-apron tied around his waist, stops in front of Jihoon to offer him a glass of wine. Jihoon accepts the red, and hangs around the front door to survey the place.

The gallery is done up in such a way that is most certainly meant to guide the visitor through; huge photographs Wonwoo took are blown up and mounted to the floor and ceiling. It creates pseudo-walls that become pseudo-hallways, of which the traffic flow is only one way. From his current spot, Jihoon can only see a few of the photos clearly, most of the others obscured by how they are angled. They are all black and white, and some are portraits while others feature half or all of the body of the subject. They are, all of them, soft and intimate.

It’s only when Jihoon catches familiar features in the corner of his eye that he puts it together.

There — at the end of the line up of photographs, is a picture of Jihoon. He is half turned away from the camera, sunlight and drapes casting sharp-lined shadows against the naked skin of his back. Jihoon remembers that day: an early morning after a long night spent in Wonwoo’s bed. They had been drinking the night before, and Jihoon had woken up with a headache that he promptly forgot about as soon as Wonwoo slid below the covers and took Jihoon’s cock into his mouth. That was just before Wonwoo took his picture. Jihoon is trying to not look too hard at himself, for fear of the embarrassment it might bring, but he’s fairly certain the high blush of post-coitous is visible on his cheeks in the photo.

It becomes clear, then. Jihoon is trapped in a maze of all the people Wonwoo has slept with. All the men and women, and some of them are looking right at him, and some aren’t, and Jihoon isn’t sure which he prefers. He’s not mad, not really. Wonwoo doesn’t owe him anything. And it’s flattering, he can’t lie, to be claimed by Wonwoo in front of all these strangers. Even if it seems no one is putting two and two together, that the person in that final photograph is standing amongst them. He’s not going anywhere near it, though. That would be tempting fate.

With no idea where Wonwoo could possibly be hiding and nothing but time, Jihoon follows the flow of the crowd into the hallway of photographs. There are a lot of photos. It makes Jihoon wonder how long Wonwoo has been working on this. It makes Jihoon wonder how many of these other people overlap with him. The photographs all have vague names: Woman with green eyes and Man who bought me a drink.

Jihoon resolves to not read the name tag on his own photograph. It feels too personal. He’d rather not know.

Quite frankly, he doesn’t even make it there. Something stops him in his tracks before he even can make it close enough to read the plaque next to the final photo of the series. It’s a portrait, a towering face, with the name, Man with a pretty laugh. The realisation hits Jihoon like a bag of bricks falling from the ceiling and hitting him in the face.

It’s Soonyoung.

That’s who is staring at Jihoon right now. That’s the image hung on the wall. Soonyoung, hair dishevelled, but smiling brightly, squinted eyes from the early morning light. Jihoon can even recognize the surroundings. It’s the same bedroom Soonyoung has right now, in the apartment he’s been living in for years.

“Fuck,” Jihoon mumbles to himself. Suddenly, his mouth feels dry, and it’s not something the wine he’s currently holding will fix. Maybe he’s jumping the gun. Jihoon has no idea the context of this photo. Jihoon knows some of the faces on this wall must be from one night stands. Jihoon’s heard all about those slutty years Wonwoo had when he was still in school and studying journalism. That’s what this could be. Soonyoung could have been just a moment, a singular drop of water in the proverbial bucket of Wonwoo’s sexual encounters.

Or he could not be.

The worst part might just be not knowing.

(Pretty laugh, Jihoon rereads, and finds himself agreeing.)

“Jihoon,” it’s Wonwoo’s voice calling his name, Wonwoo’s hand brushing Jihoon’s hip as he comes up from behind him. “I’m glad you —”

“Who’s this one?” Jihoons not even sure why he asks. It embarrasses him to say it, and he is unable to allow himself to even imagine the way his voice sounds to Wonwoo’s ears.

Wonwoo seems caught off guard, briefly, before he is answering. “I — uh, his name is Soonyoung. He’s a dancer. We met through work.”

Of course they met through work. Jihoon and Soonyoung met through work. Jihoon and Wonwoo met through work.

“Was — was he good?”

What a supremely lame thing for Jihoon to even ask.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. But he wasn’t just — he and I dated. For a while.”

“What’s a while?” Oh my god, Jihoon, his self-preservation is screaming, stop opening your mouth.

“Almost two years,” Wonwoo answers. “We — we both agreed we were too busy for any kind of relationship. This was right before things started going well for me. Um, him too. As far as I know.”

God, Jihoon knows that line. Too busy for a relationship. He knows that line with total familiarity. It’s what he told Soonyoung, what he told Wonwoo. Look, I’m too busy to even think about dating. Are we okay keeping this thing, y’know, casual?

It’s Wonwoo speaking again that cuts through the static of Jihoon's brain. “Are you upset with me, Jihoon?” Wonwoo asks. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I thought this would make you upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Jihoon insists. Really. He isn’t. “It’s just — I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Wonoo looks sheepish, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t know how to explain it to you in a way that wouldn’t just sound creepy.”

Jihoon scoffs, maybe a little too mean. “Yeah.” He can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burrowing into the side of his head. Jihoon's eyes are transfixed, immovable from the looming presence of Soonyoung in the room.

In his peripheral vision, Jihoon can see Wonwoo open his mouth, like he’s about to speak, but then a voice cuts through the crowd, calling Wonwoo’s name. When they approach, Jihoon doesn’t recognize any of them. He assumes they are all admirers, here to stroke Wonwoo’s ego with praise. Jihoon finds himself appreciative, as they monopolise Wonwoo’s time and drag him away from Jihoon.

Eventually, it’s just Jihoon and Soonyoung, staring at each other.

=

The thing about Jihoon is he is stubborn. “Aggressively determined,” are the teasing words Soonyoung always uses to describe it.

But Jihoon is stubborn, plain and simple, and he came to this gallery opening to have a good time. So, alright, he can’t change the situation he’s found himself in. He is entirely removed from the circumstances, Soonyoung’s and Wonwoo’s former relationship has nothing to do with him. Okay, maybe not entirely removed, but he doesn’t have time to emotionally dissect himself and the people who he chooses to sleep with.

Neither of them have ever asked. That’s the truth.

So, whatever, Jihoon is going to have a good time. Stubbornly so.

He stops more waiters for more glasses of wine. His mouth tastes like sour grapes. He mingles, he tells people what he does for a living, he listens to them praise Wonwoo’s photography. He expects someone to finally realise that one of those photos up there is a photo of him but it never happens.

It’s an unbelievable joke of the universe that this would happen to him. That he’d find the two dudes in his life that had previously been involved with one another and decide to regularly sleep with both of them. He supposes, when considering statistical likelihood, Jihoon didn’t do himself any favours picking two people he knew from work. Maybe Jihoon just shouldn’t have been biting the hand that feeds. Or something.

There was this way Wonwoo spoke about Soonyoung. Jihoon could recognize it because it’s the way Wonwoo will speak to him sometimes, when his guard is down and he forgets himself. He thinks Jihoon doesn’t notice. Jihoon knows it’s unfair of him to demand a certain kind of behaviour and then reinforce the opposite. But Wonwoo is — he’s nice, and he’s beautiful, and he’s got a huge dick and he makes Jihoon feel wanted. And, really, that’s probably all Jihoon is looking for anyway. He doesn’t need romance, or quality time, or any of that. He just needs to be reminded of his own desirability and he finds it in the way he can make people desperate for him.

The crowd starts to thin. Jihoon finishes another glass of wine.

“Jihoon,” it’s the familiar voice and the familiar hand, back again, but this time the touch is less assured and to Jihoon's elbow.

Emboldened by the alcohol, Jihoon does not hesitate to turn and face Wonwoo.

“Were you thinking of leaving?” Wonwoo asks and it’s really two questions in one. Are you ready to go? Do you still want to leave with me?

“Yeah,” Jihoon answers both questions without much thinking about it.

“Okay,” Wonwoo nods. “I’m parked out back.”

Jihoon follows Wonwoo, wordlessly, as he parts the crowd and gives half-hearted goodbyes to everyone he passes. At least two people stop him to inquire about purchasing something, to which Wonwoo replies, “none of them are for sale at the moment.”

Jihoon tries to imagine the way his body might look hung up in someone’s foyer. What would the guests say about him as they passed by?

It’s cold outside. Enough for Jihoon to immediately prickle with goosebumps. Inside Wonwoo’s car, the cold of the leather seats against Jihoon's skin is even worse.

“Are you cold?” Wonwoo asks, already starting the car and turning on the heat, adjusting the vents so they are facing Jihoon.

“I’m alright,” Jihoon insists but he does not move to correct any of Wonwoo’s adjustments.

Wonwoo’s hand finds its way to Jihoon's thigh, then. Jihoon meets his eyes. He can tell Wonwoo is watching him carefully, gauging his expression. Wonwoo’s eyes look a little glassy, a little sleepy. As he leans into Jihoon to kiss him, his breath smells faintly of wine.

“Did you drink tonight?” Jihoon asks. Wonwoo’s face is so close to his. Wonwoo’s hand is gripping his thigh.

“Just a couple glasses,” Wonwoo answers, hushed as his breath ghosts over Jihoon's mouth. “I’m okay to drive,” and with that he closes the distance completely, overtaking Jihoon's lip with a heated kiss.

Jihoon sighs into the kiss, unable to help the way his skin immediately starts to warm now that Wonwoo is kissing him. With the hand not on Jihoon's leg, Wonwoo touches his face, gentle and light. Like he’s afraid to commit to the touch too much. Jihoon, despite himself, leans into it.

Would Jihoon call them friends with benefits? He’s not sure. They aren’t really friends. Acquaintances feels too formal to be the word used as replacement. There are intimate details Wonwoo knows about Jihoon (the colour of the skin on his thighs, the taste at the back of Jihoon's teeth, the weight of Jihoon's throat in Wonwoo’s grip, the expression on Jihoon's face when he —) but they don’t talk. Not really. Not the way friends do. Not about their emotions, or their problems, or how their days went. They talk about work, sometimes.

(Jihoon had made a joke when they first started sleeping together.

“Can I exchange sexual favours for good reviews?” Jihoon had asked, despite the fact that Wonwoo wasn’t really a music critic, at least in the stricter sense of that word.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Wonwoo had replied.

They never did.)

The way Wonwoo is kissing Jihoon feels less like a collaboration and more just like Wonwoo taking what he wants. Jihoon allows it; allows himself to be pressed back into Wonwoo’s passenger seat, allows the grip Wonwoo has on his thigh to tighten until it is bruising.

And then, all at once, Jihoon is thinking of Soonyoung.

Maybe Soonyoung and Jihoon are closer to the definition of friends with benefits. Jihoon sees Soonyoung more, in capacities beyond the two of them falling into each other’s beds. Soonyoung likes to buy Jihoon food, and bring him little gifts, and throw an easy arm around his shoulders in public. But it doesn’t feel quite so loaded with Soonyoung when Jihoon compares it to Wonwoo. With Wonwoo, it would feel too emotional. With Soonyoung, it is easy going. Uncomplicated.

Well, it was uncomplicated. It feels a lot more complicated now.

Jihoon finds his mind wandering as Wonwoo kisses him, as Wonwoo moves to press kisses to Jihoon's jaw and throat, the two of them still sitting in Wonwoo’s parked car.

What must it have been like — the two of them together? Wonwoo had said they dated for almost two years. Did they ever live together? Did they meet each other’s families? Did Soonyoung fuck Wonwoo or did Wonwoo fuck Soonyoung? Jihoon can picture it both ways. Wonwoo on his hands and knees. Soonyoung folded in half, ankles next to his ears, twisted up like a pretzel.

Wonwoo groans against the column of Jihoon's throat. Jihoon realises he had made a noise himself, first, a breathless moan that faded at the end and Wonwoo had simply responded.

God, Jihoon's head is spinning. He had thought — he hadn’t expected it to stick like this, the knowledge of what had happened between Soonyoung and Wonwoo. But there it is, pictured in his mind’s eye and gnawing at the base of Jihoon's spine. He wants to shut his brain off. He wants to let Wonwoo take him home and reset this whole evening, with teeth and tongue and wanting, but Jihoon can’t imagine travelling from this, point a, to that, point b.

“Wonwoo,” Jihoon says quietly, like he is half hoping Wonwoo won’t hear. He doesn’t hear. Jihoon swallows the bitter pill, and repeats himself. Louder this time, “Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo lifts his head and kisses Jihoon. “What is it?” He mumbles against Jihoon's mouth.

Jihoon pulls away fully, putting some distance between himself and Wonwoo. “I would like it if you took me home now.”

“What?” Wonwoo’s face folds with confusion, knitting his eyebrows and downturning his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“I want to go home,” Jihoon speaks calmly. “That’s what I mean.”

There is a beat where Wonwoo just looks at Jihoon. He flicks his eyes from Jihoon's mouth, to his hand on Jihoon's thigh, to Jihoon's eyes. The confusion never leaves his expression. Finally, mercifully, he pulls away.

“Okay,” he says to Jihoon. “I’ll take you home.”

Jihoon does not speak a word the whole drive.

=

There are two text messages waiting for Jihoon on his phone the next morning.

The first is from Wonwoo.

Wonwoo: I’m sorry if I did something to make you angry with me, Jihoon. Text me whenever you feel like it.

The second is from Soonyoung.

Soonyoung: The label’s hosting something tonight. Will I see you there?

Jihoon only replies to Soonyoung.

=

Jihoon goes into production on an album for Vernon Chwe not long after, and subsequently spends just over six months barely having any time to speak to Soonyoung or Wonwoo.

See, this is why these arrangements work for Jihoon. There is nobody waiting for him at home. There is no one making him dinner for it to just sit and get cold. He doesn’t have to check in with anyone. He can just work, work, work, work, work. And there is no one hanging on, ready to resent him for it.

He sees Soonyoung again first, before he sees Wonwoo.

“Did you miss me?” Soonyoung greets Jihoon at his front door, gripping a plastic bag full of take out in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Get in here,” Jihoon replies, fisting the collar of Soonyoung’s shirt and hauling him forward.

They’re already kissing before the door has even fully shut behind them. Soonyoung makes a pleased noise of surprise, nearly laughing into the bearing down of Jihoon's mouth into his.

“The food will get cold,” Soonyoung admonishes teasingly. “Are you all pent up, baby?”

Jihoon would never let Wonwoo call him that.

The food does get cold but Jihoon doesn’t care. Soonyoung preps Jihoon with his mouth and fingers on Jihoon's couch (the bright red one, the one Wonwoo hates), the takeout forgotten in a heap next to their shoes at the front door. When Soonyoung fucks Jihoon it is jack-rabbit fast, the dam breaking on a six month dry spell for Jihoon. When Jihoon returns the favour, he fucks Soonyoung in his bed, and he fucks him relentless and brutal. Soonyoung keeps asking for it, breathless, harder and harder and harder. And who is Jihoon to deny him?

They finally get to the food after that, not even bothering to heat anything up. They sit naked on Jihoon's bed to eat. Jihoon preserves his modesty beneath the sheet draped around his waist but Soonyoung is content to sit cross-legged above the sheets, totally bare and shameless.

“The label is throwing a thing for Vernon and the album and music video release in like two weeks, by the way.”

Jihoon nods. He already got the Google Calendar invite. There will be a party, and then there’ll probably be an after party. “I’ll see you there?”

“Of course,” Soonyoung smiles through a mouthful of japchae. “Probably won’t see you until then, actually. Choreography is going to keep me busy.”

“What a shame,” Jihoon deadpans. Soonyoung kicks him in the shin for it. “Listen, I, uh. I wanted to ask you about this guy I met the other day. He said you knew each other.”

“Oh? A boy, Jihoonie? Trying to make me jealous?” It’s a joke. That’s why Jihoon doesn’t wince inwardly when Soonyoung says it.

“It’s not like that,” Jihoon replies. It’s dangerously close to a lie but not quite.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hoonie,” Soonyoung sing-songs. “You can do whatever you want.” Jihoon knows he means it.

“His name is Jeon Wonwoo,” Jihoon tells Soonyoung, then watches carefully for his reaction.

There is a brief tightness to Soonyoung shoulders but it does not last long.

“You're bringing up my ex, right now, Jihoon? We’re not even wearing clothes.” Soonyoung’s faux nonchalance is almost perfect. It’s almost enough to fool Jihoon. Almost.

“Sorry. I didn’t know,” Jihoon says, even though he did.

Soonyoung waves him off. “It’s fine,” he asserts, “old news. Why did you want to ask me about him?”

“Oh, it just seemed — when I brought you up, it seemed like there was history.”

“Oh, of course there’s history,” Soonyoung is stuffing his face again, maybe out of nervousness. It’s hard for Jihoon to really know. Between the two of them, Soonyoung’s mask fits better than Wonwoo’s. “We dated for twenty-one months. We called it off because we were both getting way too busy. You know how it is.”

It’s a little bit of a relief that Soonyoung’s story matches up with Wonwoo’s. At least now Jihoon knows he’s not being lied to. Unfortunately, it does nothing to solve the actual problem.

“So it was — amicable?”

“Just because it was amicable doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell,” Soonyoung admits. “We haven’t spoken since. Not because we’re angry with each other just because — well, it hurts. I haven’t dated anyone since. But well, since this,” Soonyoung gestures vaguely between himself and Jihoon, “I haven’t really felt the need to. I get everything I could possibly need from my little Jihoonie.”

It’s Jihoon's turn to kick Soonyoung, now, in revenge for the pet name. He makes contact with his shin and knee even from under the blanket. Soonyoung squeals dramatically.

They settle back into comfortable silence after that, preoccupying themselves with eating. Jihoon isn’t sure if he feels better or worse about this whole situation. Maybe it’s just the same. He has no idea what he’s going to do about it, though. Doesn’t even know how to go about figuring it out.

“Will you fuck me again?” Soonyoung purrs, sliding his takeout container onto Jihoon's bedside table and crawling towards him like a cat.

“We already went two rounds,” Jihoon shakes his head but his tone is playful. “I’m tired, Soonyoung.” He puts his own food container down on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Soonyoung replies, pushing Jihoon back against the mattress and straddling his waist. “I’ll do all the work.”

=

It’s another few days before Jihoon finally reaches out to Wonwoo. He doesn’t know how to acknowledge what went on the last time they saw each other, so he doesn’t.

Jihoon: When are you free next?

Jihoon expects to wait for the reply. He is proven wrong.

Wonwoo: Tomorrow. After dinner.
Jihoon: 7:30?
Wonwoo: More like 8:30.

Jihoon chews on his lip. He had half-expected for this to be harder, for Wonwoo to hold things above Jihoon's head. Not this time, it seems. But, well, Wonwoo never has before either. Strangely, Wonwoo’s willingness to let things slide does not bring Jihoon any feelings of relief.

Jihoon: Okay. That works for me if it works for you.
Wonwoo: It works for me.
Jihoon: My place. See you then.

Wonwoo doesn’t reply. Jihoon doesn’t need him to. He knows Wonwoo will be here tomorrow after 8:30PM, the way he knows the sun will rise tomorrow morning and set tomorrow evening. And Wonwoo probably knows that Jihoon knows that, intrinsically.

That’s just how they work.

=

Jihoon takes a personal day the next day. With production on the album recently wrapped, there really wasn’t that much for him to do anyway.

Instead, he orders coffee to be delivered and lounges in bed, shirtless, as he scrolls through his phone. He reads through emails (because he’s never really off the clock) and DMs. He checks Soonyoung’s Instagram story. He texts Soonyoung and asks him for a nude.

(Soonyoung does send it, of course. It’s of him in the practice room alone. The afternoon sun basically reflects off his abs like he’s Edward fucking Cullen. The hem of his shirt, which is sleeveless and light blue, is tucked under his chin. The other hand pulls down his shorts and boxers, far enough so that Jihoon can partly see the shaft of Soonyoung’s cock. Jihoon examines the photo thoroughly, of course, rocking his hips up slightly against the sheet above him as he does.

When Jihoon is finally hard, he sends a photo to Soonyoung in return.

The photo Soonyoung returns with, several moments later, is of Soonyoung’s own come in his hand, spread across his palm and fingers. Wish you were here to lick this off of me.

Jihoon repays him for the second photo too. Just to be polite.)

He orders lunch too — a kale salad and a burrito — and then he works out a little. The burn in his muscles is a pleasant distraction to the hornet’s nest that lives in his head these days.

When Jihoon had been working, it had sucked him in like a vortex. No part of him ever escaped it. And that was good, that was productive. Jihoon likes that, he thrives off of it. But it kind of means that his whole life gets put on pause, his problems included, and then eventually it catches up with him.

The problem is Jihoon doesn’t even know how to begin to approach the situation. He knows the obvious conclusion here, the quote unquote morally right way to do it. But for some reason that just — feels impossible. How would he explain it to them? He couldn’t tell them. Not even if they were no longer sleeping together. This web has already weaved itself into such a tight knot that Jihoon is running out of threads to pick at.

If it’s unsolvable, well then, it’s fucking unsolvable. There is no plot for Jihoon to follow to its obvious conclusion. He’ll ride it out until it inevitably implodes. He’ll cross that bridge when it is forced upon him.

He just wishes he had something to distract himself. Maybe the personal day was a bad idea.

=

Wonwoo knocks on Jihoon’s door at 8:40PM.

He lets Wonwoo in. Jihoon is freshly showered, the smell of sandalwood and musk still clinging to him, and dressed in light-washed jeans and a t-shirt. Wonwoo is dressed much more smartly in dress pants and a blazer. He must have come straight from somewhere.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wonwoo apologises, toeing off his shoes at the door. “They held me up. Did you eat? I had food at the restaurant but if you’re hungry we could order something —”

“I ate,” Jihoon interjects. “How was your day?”

Wonwoo gives Jihoon an incredulous look. “You never ask me that.”

It catches Jihoon off guard. “I — I was just wondering where you were coming from, honestly.”

“Oh, uh,” Wonwoo follows Jihoon into the living room. He removes his jacket and hangs it over the loveseat before taking the spot beside Jihoon on the couch. “Business. Dinner. Thing. I’m talking to some people about maybe writing a book.”

“What would your book be about?”

“Music,” Wonwoo shrugs. The answer seems pretty obvious in hindsight. “I’m hoping they’ll let me take pictures for it. I don’t know what exactly I’d write about, though.”

“You’re good at your job,” Jihoon tells him. “You’ll think of something.”

Wonwoo’s reply is unexpected but not unwelcome: “Can I kiss you?”

Jihoon licks his lips, angling his body towards Wonwoo. “Yeah,” he breathes quietly, fingers reaching towards Wonwoo’s knee. “You can kiss me.”

Wonwoo does. His mouth tastes like meat and beer and he wastes no time getting his tongue half way down Jihoon's throat. For a split second Jihoon is overwhelmed with a thought — how could he ever want to give this up?

Wonwoo slides his hands to Jihoon's waist, pressing his palms to either side. He pulls Jihoon towards him like that, sliding him across the couch until their legs end up tangled. It surprises Jihoon how easily they fall back into it. There is no awkwardness, at least none that Jihoon can discern. Jihoon's body responds to Wonwoo and Wonwoo’s body responds to Jihoon in return.

“Can I fuck you,” comes the second question.

Jihoon feels his dick twitch in his jeans, heavily interested. “Yeah,” he replies. “I prepped in the shower earlier.”

“Fuck,” comes out of Wonwoo’s mouth, under his breath. “Show me.”

Jihoon does as he’s asked, kicking off his jeans and underwear as quickly as possible. Wonwoo watches with rapt attention as Jihoon repositions himself, laying down against the couch with his feet towards Wonwoo.

“Come here,” Jihoon calls.

Wonwoo reaches out toward Jihoon, leaning forward to hover above him. Jihoon takes Wonwoo’s hand into his, guiding it down between his legs as Jihoon spreads them further apart. Wonwoo’s touch is prodding at first — fast and shy. But he becomes emboldened quickly, pushing two fingers through the velvet heat of Jihoon's rim.

Jihoon’s breath stutters out of him, pulling a shallow moan with it as it leaves. Wonwoo kisses the inside of Jihoon’s knee.

“You’re so loose for me,” Wonwoo mutters against Jihoon’s skin. “I could split you open right now.”

“God, Wonwoo. Do it.”

Wonwoo hums. “Not yet,” he refuses, taking a moment to pull his shirt over his head one-handed. “Give me a second.”

It turns out to be longer than a second. It turns into Wonwoo using his fingers to open Jihoon back up, anyway, despite all the work Jihoon did earlier in the shower. He sucks Jihoon’s cock the whole time, taking him all the way into the back of his throat, licking up the length of his shaft. Jihoon writhes. It feels like sensory overload, like Jihoon’s nerves can’t stop firing. He finds himself caught between bearing down against Wonwoo’s fingers or thrusting up into his mouth, helplessly pistoning his hips, chasing everything.

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, please,” the sound of Jihoon’s own voice to his ears is embarrassing enough for the warmth of shame to fall across Jihoon's skin, from cheeks to chest. He’s lost his shirt too, by this point, and the pink shade of it is on full display. “I’m gonna come if you keep at it.”

Wonwoo slides his mouth off Jihoon’s cock to reply. “Isn’t that the point?”

From underneath his bangs, Jihoon looks down at Wonwoo. His hair is dishevelled, his mouth wet and glistening. His eyes are stormy and wanting. Jihoon almost shivers. “Wanna come with you inside me,” he admits to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo scales the length of Jihoon’s body, then. Presses him down into his couch cushions, biting against the curve of his jaw and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Okay,” he says, kissing Jihoon on the mouth properly. “We can do that.”

They don’t use a condom. Wonwoo doesn’t have one handy and Jihoon doesn’t have the wherewithal to dig for some. He’s half-worried that he'd find a box left behind by Soonyoung.

Wonwoo slides into Jihoon while he has a tight grip on his hips, pulling Jihoon down to meet him, flush where they press together. Wonwoo fucks Jihoon in long, consistent thrusts. He’s always pulling almost all the way out of Jihoon, leaving him half-empty, only to smoothly slide back in as far as he can.

“Missed this,” Wonwoo says with one of Jihoon’s legs over his shoulder. “Missed you taking my cock.”

The cushions keep slipping underneath Jihoon. That’s why Wonwoo hates fucking on this couch; the cushions are always falling off. If he notices this time, he says nothing.

“Like I’m made for it, right?” Jihoon has one hand above his head, braced against the arm of the couch. The other plays non-committedly with his cock. Jihoon is not in a rush to come. Not yet.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo grits. “Just like you’re made for it.”

As Wonwoo’s arousal mounts and his orgasm draws closer, he becomes more and more quiet. His bottom lip is caught tightly between his teeth as he thrusts in and out of Jihoon, grunting in the back of his throat as Jihoon moans and arches against him. Jihoon reaches up, thinking he might smooth out the wrinkles between Wonwoo’s brow, maybe, but he aborts the action at the last moment. Instead, Jihoon's hands end up on Wonwoo’s shoulders, his nails digging crescent moon shapes into his flesh.

“Come inside me?” He asks Wonwoo.

“Fuck,” the word falls out of Wonwoo’s mouth in what seems like an accident. “Okay, okay.”

Jihoon ends up coming first. When he does, his come ends up sprayed across his own chest and Wonwoo’s. Jihoon runs his hand through it, smears it all over Wonwoo’s pectorals muscles, runs his thumb purposefully over Wonwoo’s right nipple, pinches it a little.

That’s what finally does it for Wonwoo — and he is giving one last, firm thrust inside of Jihoon, before his whole body goes taut and he comes. Jihoon isn’t sure if he can really feel the warmth of it or if it’s just his brain playing tricks on him, but it feels nice regardless.

Wonwoo pulls out and Jihoon hisses. He feels like hot, melted honey, sticky and boneless. Wonwoo isn’t finished yet, though. He pushes Jihoon's legs apart, hands so hot against Jihoon's skin they feel like molten lava, so he can watch his come leak out of Jihoon's hole.

“You’re gorgeous,” Wonwoo tells Jihoon, and then he uses his thumb to push his come back inside of Jihoon.

Jihoon mewls, shrinking away from the touch because of the over stimulation. Wonwoo holds him still, just for a little, so he can see just how many fingers he can still fit in Jihoon, using his own come to ease the slide. It takes Jihoon whining at him to stop for Wonwoo to finally give it up.

Jihoon pulls Wonwoo into his bathroom with him after that. He runs a washcloth under warm water and then begins work on cleaning them both up. Jihoon can feel Wonwoo watching him, watching as he runs the washcloth across Wonwoo’s chest, down over his ribs, across the lowest part of his pelvis. They are standing so close together. Wonwoo’s breath fans out against Jihoon's bare shoulder.

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo calls his name, and Jihoon looks up at him. He kisses Jihoon, then. It is sweet and gentle, and it almost turns Jihoon's stomach. But he does not pull away. He allows Wonwoo to kiss him. “I really,” Wonwoo starts the thought, then cuts it off. He tries again, “I just wanted — I wanted to say I was glad. To hear from you.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he could say. He and Wonwoo are always on this precipice; they are always posed over the edge of a cliff, looking over the edge, and half the time it feels like Jihoon is the one that’s about to push Wonwoo over. Wonwoo wants something from Jihoon that Jihoon isn’t even sure exists for him nor from him. But, still, there is something in Jihoon that always acquiesces. There is a part of him that lacks the wherewithal to ever, ever even think about saying no. At least out loud.

Not for the first time, Jihoon wonders how it might have been different, when Wonwoo and Soonyoung were the ones sharing these moments.

=

The label ends up hiring someone to dress Jihoon for the release party.

His name is Minghao and he’s tall and lanky. He arrives at Jihoon's apartment in a flurry of garment bags and a rolling suitcase full of shoes. Jihoon is a little nervous, unsure of how someone with the opposite body type to him could possibly make him look good, but Minghao is competent. He dresses Jihoon in pinstripe pants and a loose fitting, deep red coloured button-up. Minghao half tucks the shirt into Jihoon's pants, and leaves the other half hanging out. It’s an outfit that not only works well for Jihoon's body type, but also will transition from the actual industry party, to the after party at the club.

The final touch is a pair of Prada platform loafers, black with silver details.

“Do you like it?” Minghao asks, hovering behind Jihoon's shoulder as Jihoon surveys himself in the full-length mirror.

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees. “It all looks good.”

“Well, I hope your date likes it too.” Minghao had seen the marks from Wonwoo’s mouth on Jihoon's chest and thighs when he was undressing. From there, Minghao assumed, and Jihoon didn’t think it was worth it to correct him.

“Yeah. I’m sure he will.”

=

Jihoon does not get a single moment to himself until the after party.

His time during the industry hub-bub is totally monopolised by wave after wave of people. His producing credit is on every song on the album, so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Jihoon entertains polite conversation and gives out thank yous in exchange for praise. They get Vernon drunk and throw him up on stage to make a speech and he thanks Jihoon at least a dozen times.

Jihoon catches the shape of Soonyoung, far off in the crowd. He’s smiling fondly.

The after party gives Jihoon the chance to finally breathe. The music is loud and the lights are bright but at least no one is demanding Jihoon's direct attention. He gives himself a moment of peace in the safety and security of the VIP section the label had reserved. He kicks up his feet onto the low table in front of him and pours himself a long drink from one the bottles on it, also bought by the label.

This is where Soonyoung finds him.

“There he is,” Soonyoung coos, slipping in next to Jihoon on the couch, briefly laying his head against Jihoon's shoulder. “The man of the hour.”

Jihoon shakes Soonyoung off. “It’s not my release party,” he counters.

Soonyoung shrugs. “It might as well be. I couldn’t get a moment of your time all night.”

Jihoon hums in agreement. “Yeah. Couldn’t even sneak away to the bathroom in peace.”

“What a shame,” Soonyoung pouts. The lights in the club fall across his face in patterns, like stained glass kaleidoscopes. There's glitter on Soonyoung’s eyelids and the high points of his cheeks, catching all the colours, and they get caught in his eyes and his teeth showing smile. He looks beautiful. It’s not the first time Jihoon has wanted to use that word to describe him. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”

Soonyoung, the shameless flirt that he is, winks.

“Yeah. Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung grips Jihoon's elbow. “Come dance with me too, then.”

Jihoon is powerless to even protest. To watch Soonyoung dance is mesmerising. Jihoon knows this but it catches him off guard every time. Soonyoung feels music in his body in a way that Jihoon can’t even begin to comprehend. And Jihoon knows music. To watch Soonyoung dance to music Jihoon had a hand in creating — well, that’s another thing entirely.

Soonyoung directs Jihoon's body with his own; he lifts both their arms above their heads, he guides Jihoon's hands down and around his waist, he turns around and backs his ass up into Jihoon's crotch. They’d never do something like this at a work event, usually, but the after party is safer. It’s a smaller crowd. People are expected to get a little rowdy. People are expected to go home with each other.

Jihoon buries his nose at the point where Soonyoung’s neck curves into his shoulders. He breathes in, and it is all musk and sweat and the stale smell of club smoke machines.

“We should leave soon,” Jihoon whisper-shouts into Soonyoung’s ear.

Soonyoung pushes back against Jihoon harder, stirring Jihoon's cock beneath his pants. “Hmm, yeah,” Soonyoung hums in reply. “Another drink first, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll go get us something.” Jihoon extracts his body from Soonyoung’s limbs, pausing a moment to entertain the thought of kissing Soonyoung, but deciding against it.

=

(This is, of course, when it happens.

That proverbial implosion Jihoon was thinking this would all amount to.)

=

“Wonwoo?”

Jihoon feels like his whole body stops. There is no heartbeat in his chest, the blood in his veins is still. His lungs are useless in his ribcage.

Wonwoo is here.

Here, at the party. Was he at the event earlier? He could have been. He’s covered things like that before for work. He wouldn’t have been out of place. Did he go because he knew Jihoon was going to be there? That Jihoon was going to be here, at this club and at this after party?

It’s a miracle it took Jihoon this long to notice him. Or, maybe not a miracle. Maybe it was something more like sabotage.

“Jihoon.”

“Have you — have you been here, this whole time?” Jihoon stumbles over his words.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I went home — for a bit, after the event. But I — I knew you’d be here and I just — I really wanted to talk to you about something, Jihoon.”

No, this can’t be happening. Not here. Not right now. Part of Jihoon knew, of course, that this was an inevitability. He knew well enough the way Wonwoo felt, the behaviours Jihoon was simultaneously enabling and admonishing Wonwoo for. Jihoon knew it would catch up to him, he knew, but — but it was nice pretending it might not.

It was nice pretending Jihoon wasn’t actually hurting Wonwoo.

“Wonwoo. You want to do this? Right now?” Jihoon has to force the words from his throat.

God. Wonwoo’s expression is so, so broken. “I don’t know when else I’m supposed to do it, Jihoon.”

“So don’t,” Jihoon's voice must sound so desperate. “Don’t do it.”

“Are you really asking me to do that?” Wonwoo asks and it almost sounds like, if that’s what you really want, I’ll do it for you — and isn’t that just the same problem all over again?

“I just — I never meant —”

“Jihoon, I —”

“Jihoon! Where have you been?”

Soonyoung appears behind Jihoon, draping himself over Jihoon's back. He throws arms around Jihoon’s shoulders with hesitation, completely oblivious.

At least, there’s a moment when he is completely oblivious. Then Wonwoo is saying, “Soonyoung?” and shattering that veil around them.

For a minute, Jihoon feels like he’s submerged underwater. Like all the breath washes out of him and he can’t breathe in or hear properly. Everything is muffled, filtered from around him to become a smudged blur. But, of course this was going to happen — he knew, he should have known —

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo’s expression is still broken, still so cracked apart and vulnerable, but now there’s an edge to it. “What is this?”

Wonwoo must not really care for the answer, because when Jihoon opens his mouth to try and speak, Wonwoo cuts him off.

“Is this why you were asking me about him? About Soonyoung? Was there — are you —”

Soonyoung has abandoned his hold on Jihoon, slinking backwards. He says nothing. He was never the one whose potential reaction made Jihoon nervous.

Unfortunately for Jihoon, that person is the one he’s making eye contact with right now. Jihoon feels stupid, and he feels small, and most of — though maybe no one else will believe it — he feels sorry.

“Wonwoo. I didn’t mean for — for it to happen like this.”

“Is that why you didn’t — is this why you were so,” Wonwoo’s keep losing the ends of sentences halfway through speaking them. He shakes his head, as if to clear it from an encroaching black cloud. The next thing Wonwoo says is blunt and assured. “Are you fucking him?”

Wonwoo isn’t looking at Jihoon when he says it. He’s looking at Soonyoung.

“Listen, Wonwoo, I don’t know what we’ve gotten ourselves into here but Jihoon —”

“We’re fucking,” Jihoon's own voice surprises him. It feels like someone else is operating his brain. “For as long as you and I have been fucking, Soonyoung and I have been fucking. Give or take a few weeks.” Jihoon can’t believe he’s having this argument in the middle of a club. He wishes, most of all, he could have had at least one more drink.

He doesn’t know what he expects Wonwoo to do. Doesn’t know whether he expects him to cry, or to scream, or to shove Jihoon into the bar and smash his knuckles into his face. Wonwoo does none of those things.

Instead:

“Let’s take Soonyoung home with us,” Wonwoo says.

“What?” Jihoon is perplexed. This can’t be what Wonwoo wants, can it?

“I said,” Wonwoo repeats. His tone is not venomous but it is firm. “That we should take Soonyoung home. With us.”

It feels wrong. It feels — this isn’t right for them. Not now. But —

But Wonwoo is turning to Soonyoung before Jihoon can say anything. “He wants us both, doesn’t he? He’s been doing both of us for months. So. Why not?”

Soonyoung watches Jihoon, searching, searching but Jihoon remains stunned. And there it is again: the way he can’t find it in himself to say no. Maybe Wonwoo knows that. It’s not that Jihoon doesn’t want them — the wanting is what got him into this mess to begin with. Jihoon's inability to deny himself is responsible. But it's just — Wonwoo’s upset, Jihoon can tell — but.

“Jihoon?” Soonyoung’s voice is soft. Jihoon is thankful for it, for the respite in the eye of this storm. “Is that something you want?”

God, no one should ever ask Jihoon what he wants.

“Yeah,” Jihoon replies, feeling very much like he wants too many things.

=

They go to Jihoon's apartment. They take Wonwoo’s car. The ride is quiet but on the way up to the apartment Soonyoung holds Jihoon’s hand.

It’s hard for Jihoon to track how the universe lined up just right to bring him here, how exactly he came to want this. He’s excited but he’s also so nervous. For the first time in months and months of sleeping together, Wonwoo is completely closed off. He is totally unreadable to Jihoon. Jihoon is not used to Wonwoo being able to hide anything from him.

Once they are inside, Wonwoo is giving instructions almost immediately. “Kiss him,” Wonwoo says, without being specific about who, between Soonyoung and Jihoon, he is actually referring to.

It’s Soonyoung who leans into Jihoon's space and captures his mouth. Jihoon imagines what this all would look like outside of his body; what it might look like for Wonwoo to watch Jihoon and Soonyoung kiss. Beyond that, what kind of picture the three of them might paint together. Jihoon tries to catch sight of Wonwoo out of the corner of his eye but he is standing too far over Jihoon's shoulder.

Soonyoung touches Jihoon's waist. No, not Soonyoung. The touch isn’t the same. It’s then that Jihoon registers the presence immediately behind him; it’s Wonwoo, his front pressed against Jihoon's back and his hands on Jihoon's waist.

Like this, Jihoon is stuck between Soonyoung and Wonwoo, a moth under a pin.

Soonyoung is still kissing him, sloppy and wet, as Wonwoo pulls Jihoon's shirt out from where it was still tucked into his pants. Wonwoo puts his hands on Jihoon's skin, palms flat against his hips underneath his shirt. The touch is hot, just like Soonyoung’s mouth.

Wonwoo’s mouth is on Jihoon's throat, then. He kisses, then bites hard, then runs his tongue against the spot to soothe the burn. Jihoon is trembling. He can feel Soonyoung’s rapidly growing hard on pressed into his hip and Wonwoo’s own thickness pressing into the small of his back. Jihoon is hard too, of course. All he can do is kiss Soonyoung back, grip his shoulders, and rock backwards against Wonwoo’s cock.

Jihoon isn’t sure how long they spend like that. Isn’t sure how long he and Soonyoung spend with their tongues in each other’s mouths, Wonwoo’s tongue against Jihoon's pulse point, his hands underneath Jihoon's shirt. Time flows like a river, slow and steady, but constant.

Eventually, Jihoon pulls away enough from Soonyoung to say, “the bedroom,” and his voice sounds so, so wrecked.

They both know the way to Jihoon's bedroom.

Once they're inside, Soonyoung undoes the button and fly on Jihoon's pants, dropping to his knees to pull them down to Jihoon's ankles and then off completely. Wonwoo comes around them — gaze unwavering, always watching — to sit on the edge of Jihoon's bed.

Of all the times Wonwoo has looked at Jihoon with something akin to worship in his eyes, it has never been this potent. It thickens the air in the room. It rolls off Wonwoo like sweat. Jihoon can taste it in his mouth, can feel it on his skin like the grittiness of salt water.

There’s something rotten that takes root in Jihoon's stomach, unexpectedly. Wonwoo has never looked at just him like that. Not once. But then, Soonyoung is here this time, isn’t he?

Jihoon doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. While he’s been so deep in thought, Soonyoung has crawled over to Wonwoo on all fours and started nudging at his cock through his jeans with his nose. And that, of course, demands all of Jihoon's attention.

He’s not sure why he just stands there, waiting for instruction. It never comes. Wonwoo is too focused on Soonyoung, who is pulling down his zipper with his teeth and taking his cock out.

Eventually, Jihoon sits down next to Wonwoo on his bed. Wonwoo turns to look at him, leaving Soonyoung to his devices. Jihoon kisses him. Wonwoo’s kisses are more calculated and less primal than Soonyoung’s but the way he licks into Jihoon's open and waiting mouth still makes Jihoon's toes curl. Jihoon touches his face, places a palm on Wonwoo’s cheek and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Wonwoo’s ear. Wonwoo hisses into Jihoon's mouth, then, and Jihoon looks down at Wonwoo’s lap to see Soonyoung has swallowed Wonwoo’s cock down to the root.

“Soonyoung likes giving head,” Jihoon says, to no one in particular except for the empty air of the room.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agrees, voice strained. “He’s good at it too.”

Jihoon can hear Soonyoung hum — preening under the praise — but even if he couldn’t, the noise Wonwoo makes in the back of his throat would be enough for Jihoon to put the pieces together. Jihoon threads his fingers through the cropped hair on the back of Soonyoung’s neck, giving it one good, hard tug. Soonyoung inhales sharply.

“Jihoonie,” Soonyoung pulls off Wonwoo's dick with a pop. “Get more naked.”

Jihoon fully intends to do just that. He’s still wearing his shirt and it is so oversized it dwarfs him, coming down to mid-thigh and completely hiding the fact that he’s still wearing boxers. But first, Jihoon thinks, Wonwoo should get more naked too.

He tugs on the collar of Wonwoo’s button-up. “Take this off,” Jihoon commands. Wonwoo does. Jihoon can feel his mouth water watching more and more of Wonwoo’s chest being exposed. Wonwoo keeps pausing, getting distracted by Soonyoung placing open-mouthed kisses on the underside of his cock, and Jihoon relishes in the opportunity to ogle. Then, he places his hand against Wonwoo’s chest, kisses him long and slow, and slides his shirt off his shoulders.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo breathes into Jihoon's mouth. From below, Soonyoung might as well be giggling. Jihoon can see a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye and then all of a sudden all three of them are down to their underwear, Wonwoo with his dick still out.

“My turn,” Soonyoung coos, placing his hand on top of Jihoon's own on Wonwoo’s chest. He brings his mouth down against Wonwoo’s. Jihoon watches them, blinking slowly, lips parted.

They kiss like people who know each other. But it’s beyond physical; it is not just the way Wonwoo knows how to lean into Soonyoung’s touch, already knows the way Soonyoung plans to guide him before they even get there. It’s more than that. It’s intrinsic and instinctive. They respond to each other in ways that are not so obvious without even realising it. Every part of them slots together.

Jihoon is not a jealous person by nature. And this isn’t jealousy, not really. It’s just — it makes Jihoon think, very hard, about some things.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Wonwoo says softly, like it’s a secret, whispering almost into Jihoon's ear.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung agrees. He’s climbing on top of Jihoon, then pushing him against the mattress and straddling his hips. “Think less,” he rolls his hips down against Jihoon's hard cock to punctuate his sentence.

It’s a compelling argument.

Before Jihoon knows it, his underwear are gone and so are Soonyoung’s. Wonwoo, who is lying down beside Jihoon, as Soonyoung sucks bruises onto Jihoon's chest and bites at his nipples, is naked too. There is so much skin and it is all so overheated and wet, with sweat and spit and precome. Could Jihoon have ever anticipated this? Could he have ever truly expected what this would be like?

“How do you wanna do this?” Soonyoung asks. But he doesn’t ask Jihoon. He asks Wonwoo.

“I want you to suck him off,” Wonwoo answers. God, Jihoon is going to die.

Soonyoung looks up at Jihoon through his eyelashes, a smirk playing on his lips. “I can do that. Slide up a little bit, Jihoon.” He gives Jihoon a little tap on his inner thigh.

Jihoon scrambles up the mattress. Wonwoo follows, guiding Jihoon so he is leaning back against Wonwoo’s chest, Wonwoo’s legs on either side of Jihoon's. Chest to back, now without the barrier of clothing, Jihoon's skin clings to Wonwoo’s. He can feel smears of Wonwoo’s precome spread against his lower back.

Soonyoung slinks up between Jihoon's legs. He’s always looking like a cat, all smooth movements and faux-coyness, knowing exactly what he’s doing and how people are reacting to him. He kisses the tip of Jihoon's cock, his back bowed so his ass is high in the air, fully visible to both Jihoon and Wonwoo. Soonyoung squirms, just a little, for good measure.

Soonyoung starts with small kitten licks to Jihoon's cock. Against the tip, on the base of the head, down the shaft itself until he is at the base. Jihoon whines. He can feel Wonwoo everywhere. His hands aren’t afraid to roam either; pressing against Jihoon's flanks, flitting along Jihoon's stomach, making the muscles underneath jump as he goes. He touches Jihoon like he’s trying to memorise things. Like someone might ask him to describe Jihoon from memory. Soonyoung kisses the inside of Jihoon's thigh, nibbles slightly.

“I’m gonna suck your brains out through your dick now, Hoonie,” Soonyoung says, and then sucks Jihoon's cock down until it hits the back of his throat.

Jihoon melts. His pelvis lifts off the mattress but Wonwoo holds him down, huge hands spread out against the jutting bones of Jihoon's hips. Soonyoung is sloppy and messy and loud. He wastes no time bobbing up and down on Jihoon's cock, slurping and moaning like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. Wonwoo kisses behind Jihoon's ear, bites his earlobe, and keeps Jihoon's hips firm against the mattress. It is maddening. Both of them are. Jihoon can feel Wonwoo rutting, just so, against his back.

“I - oh,” Jihoon loses the words as Soonyoung’s tongues his slit. “Fuck.”

Soonyoung pulls himself off Jihoon's cock, wiping his red, wet mouth against the back of his hand. “What was that? What do you want?”

“I want,” Jihoon's voice is shaky with unbidden arousal. “I want to come, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung makes a show of being thoughtful, tapping his finger against his chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure. What do you think, Wonu? Should I let him come?”

Jihoon turns his head to look at Wonwoo as best he can. Maybe if Wonwoo can see Jihoon's eyes, he’ll be able to see just how bad Jihoon wants it.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. “You can make him come.”

Jihoon is caught somewhere between relief and nervous anticipation.

With permission, Soonyoung is relentless. He wraps his hand around the bottom of Jihoon's cock, jerking him off, while he focuses his mouth on the top. He presses his tongue against the vein on the underside of Jihoon's cock.

Wonwoo presses two fingers against Jihoon's chin, angling their faces so their mouths slide together, not quite perfect but satisfying regardless. He bites roughly into Jihoon’s bottom lip, then pulls away, just slightly, to lick against the same spot.

And that — that is when Jihoon comes.

Soonyoung swallows. He’s climbing up Jihoon’s body, then, until he is close enough for Wonwoo to kiss him. Jihoon watches from below them, catching glimpses of tongues. Soonyoung kisses Jihoon next and it tastes like the three of them; like Soonyoung and Wonwoo and Jihoon but it also tastes like Wonwoo tasting Jihoon, like Soonyoung tasting Jihoon, like Wonwoo and Soonyoung tasting each other.

There could never be more of this. Anything else would be overwhelming. But this is good, it is so good. Jihoon would stay like this, pressed between Wonwoo and Soonyoung, for as long as he possibly could. It’s too bad nothing lasts forever.

“Will you fuck me?” Jihoon asks once Soonyoung has finished thoroughly kissing him.

“Insatiable,” is Soonyoung’s reply, dragging out the middle syllable. “I just swallowed your load and now you want me to fuck you?”

“I could —” Wonwoo offers.

Jihoon cuts him off. “No — no. I want Soonyoung to fuck me while I blow you.”

The room bristles with heat. Jihoon is sure everyone’s hair is standing on end right now. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are both quiet for a moment. Then, Soonyoung shrugs, says to Wonwoo, “he usually gets whatever he wants from me.”

“You too, huh?”

That’s how Jihoon ends up on his hands and knees. Soonyoung puts a pillow under his hips and licks into Jihoon for, like, way too long for it to just be for preparation reasons, while Wonwoo pets Jihoon’s hair. Soonyoung opens Jihoon up on his fingers after that.

Jihoon mouths at Wonwoo’s dick, tries to take it into his mouth, but Wonwoo gently pulls him away.

“Let him prep you first,” Wonwoo says, so Jihoon settles for pressing kisses against Wonwoo’s thighs while Soonyoung fingers him open. Or, well, he tries. But eventually Soonyoung’s ministrations are so thorough and distracting that Jihoon ends up with his cheek pressed against Wonwoo’s thigh, breathing hard and whining quietly in the back of his throat.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo speaks again. “He’s ready now.”

“I know,” Jihoon hears Soonyoung reply from behind him. “I just like teasing.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo sighs. “I know.”

There’s that feeling in Jihoon’s chest again: the jealousy that isn’t jealousy, not really. It wouldn’t be jealousy. It could never be jealousy. Maybe it’s more like longing. Maybe it’s more like recognizing things you’re missing by seeing them in someone else.

It’s fine. He doesn’t have to think about it. Soonyoung is lining himself up with Jihoon’s dripping hole and sliding in, inch by torturous inch, and so there’s no reason to think about it. Jihoon is so focused on the pleasant burn of Soonyoung stretching him open that he doesn’t feel Wonwoo’s hand slide into his hair, doesn’t realise what’s happening until he’s staring down Wonwoo’s cock, the slick head dragging across his bottom lip.

“You can suck me off now,” Wonwoo tells him.

Yeah. Jihoon can do that.

It is the indescribable feeling of fullness, having Soonyoung fucking into him behind and Wonwoo’s cock down his throat. Jihoon struggles in taking them both as deep as he can. Leaning forward, opening his throat for Wonwoo and pushing back, matching the timing of Soonyoung’s thrusts into him. Above Jihoon, Wonwoo makes these breathy little noises, groans in the back of his throat. Behind him, Soonyoung says nasty shit and grips Jihoon's left hip in one hand and his right ass cheek in the other.

Jihoon slides his mouth off of Wonwoo’s cock, drool trailing across his chin from the corners of his mouth. He looks up at Wonwoo, who is dishevelled and flushed and is looking at Jihoon the way he always does.

(But it’s not — it’s not)

“You should fuck my mouth,” Jihoon offers. “I want it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slides his thumb across the mess of spit on Jihoon's face. Then, he presses his thumb against Jihoon’s bottom lip, until the pad of his thumb is nudged right up against Jihoon’s teeth. Jihoon opens his mouth obediently, sucking Wonwoo’s thumb into his mouth. He lets Wonwoo press his tongue down with his thumb, until it’s enough pressure to have Jihoon opening his mouth, wide and wet. They do not break eye contact, not even while Soonyoung continues his forceful thrusts inside of Jihoon.

(Here’s the other thing about Jihoon.

He is not a good person. He is not jealous by nature. He wants too much.

Here’s the other thing about Jihoon:

He is proud. That’s his deadly sin of choice.

There’s a great many things he’s given up in the name of pride. And there’s a great many things, still, that he will come to give up in the name of pride.

That’s the other thing about Jihoon.)

“I’ll fuck your mouth,” Wonwoo finally speaks. Jihoon is still staring up at him, doe-eyed and open-mouthed. “But you have to make Soonyoung and I come first, alright? After that you can come again. But only after that.”

Soonyoung makes a noise that sounds a little bit like fuck yeah, but he is too breathless and strained for it to really come out properly. Jihoon nods as best he can. Wonwoo slides his thumb out of Jihoon’s mouth, then, digging his nail into the fleshiest part of Jihoon’s bottom lip on the way out.

Jihoon gets to work after that. Lucky for him, he’s good at focusing on tasks. He has good time management skills. He works well under pressure. Wonwoo is now rolling his hips up into Jihoon’s mouth at a steady pace, so close to matching up with the timing of Soonyoung’s thrusts, but still not quite right. The slightly off kilter rhythm means Jihoon keeps choking, and then Soonyoung hits his prostate, and the choking becomes a moan. He really could come like this, filled at both ends and being used, but he forces his body to not allow it.

Soonyoung comes first. His rhythm starts to falter until it falls apart completely and then he’s making a strangled cry before pulling out and coming in spurts across Jihoon’s back. Wonwoo follows, using a hand on the back of Jihoon’s head to push him as far down on Wonwoo’s cock as he could possibly go and then maybe a little bit farther. Jihoon lets him, and when Wonwoo comes, Jihoon swallows his entire load.

He looks up at Wonwoo, obscured by eyelashes and the shadows of the dark room, only to realise Wonwoo isn’t looking down at Jihoon. To realise that Wonwoo is looking at Soonyoung.

Jihoon barely registers his own orgasm after that, so blissed out he might as well be outside of his body. He knows he ends up on his back, and someone wraps their hand around his cock, and Wonwoo and Soonyoung are kissing, and someone jerks Jihoon’s cock until he’s coming again, and Wonwoo and Soonyoung are still kissing. It seems like they spend a long time kissing.

To Jihoon, at least, it seems like they spend a lot of time kissing.

Jihoon watches Soonyoung and Wonwoo kiss, for what feels like a long time, and then eventually, without even realising it, Jihoon falls asleep.

=

Jihoon wakes in his own bed the next morning. Soonyoung is still asleep next to him, drooling on the pillow. Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. His pile of his clothes on the floor is gone. There is no noise coming from anywhere else in the apartment.

Jihoon sighs. Every part of him aches, muscles and bones but also his skin and his ego. He keeps thinking about the way Wonwoo looked at him — not just last night, but all the nights before last night, and then he compares. He thinks about how Wonwoo came to the club because he knew Jihoon would be there. Because he had something he wanted to tell Jihoon. And somehow they ended up here.

Soonyoung snuffles in his sleep. He’s spread out like a starfish, his foot pressed against Jihoon’s calf.

Then, Jihoon thinks about the way Wonwoo looked at Soonyoung. Maybe Wonwoo was looking at the two of them, technically. But Soonyoung was what was missing all those other times, right? In this hypothesis, Soonyoung is the variable. He is the chemical added to produce a reaction. Jihoon thinks about how, when Wonwoo finally came, it was with the sound of no one’s name in his mouth and with his eyes fixed firmly on Soonyoung. Jihoon had Wonwoo’s cock shoved halfway down his throat and the only person Wonwoo could look at was Soonyoung.

Well. That’s it, then, isn’t it? Jihoon can solve his own problem and maybe, just maybe, redeem himself. Prove to the version of himself that lives in his head that, sometimes, he can learn to be unselfish.

It still sort of tastes sour in Jihoon’s mouth, though. But he’ll get over it.

=

Jihoon meets Wonwoo — for the last time — at a coffee shop the same distance from Jihoon’s apartment as it is from Wonwoo’s.

It’s as close as they can get to equal footing. As close as they can get to being fair.

Wonwoo looks like the leading man in a romance movie. But when doesn’t he? The day is overcast, so they sit inside. Jihoon orders an Americano in a to-go cup. Wonwoo gets his cappuccino in a white ceramic mug.

“I talked to Soonyoung,” is how Jihoon starts.

“You talked to Soonyoung,” Wonwoo parrots. “About what?”

“About the two of you.”

It’s easy to read the confusion on Wonwoo’s face. But then, Jihoon has always been pretty good at reading Wonwoo, hasn’t he?

“What do you mean,” Wonwoo asks, “the two of us?”

“Listen, Wonwoo,” Jihoon sits up straighter in his chair. He can’t stop picking at the logo on the hot drink sleeve they gave him for his cup. “You and I were — it was good, mostly. Except for when it wasn’t. And that was — that was mostly my fault, y’know? I know that now. I kind of knew that then but well — it’s not as easy when you’re in the moment. But now those moments are over.”

“Jihoon.”

“Let me finish,” Jihoon continues without waiting for confirmation. “I told you, at the very beginning, that I was always going to prioritise work. Always. It’s just who I am. It’s why I can’t do — like, fucking romance, y’know? I can’t have someone waiting around for me like that.”

Wonwoo looks like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. Or maybe Jihoon is talking so fast he doesn’t have the chance. “But you and Soonyoung? Listen, the other week, when we,” what’s the appropriate word to use in public? Jihoon can’t think of one. “Yeah. You and Soonyoung — the two of you just fit, Wonwoo. I could see it with my own two eyes.”

“Soonyoung and I already tried that. It didn’t —”

“I already talked to Soonyoung,” Jihoon interrupts. There’s a frustrated edge to the furrow of Wonwoo’s brow now. “You still care about each other, I can tell. He told me he still cares about you. And I think — I think if you care about him too, that the two of you should give it another shot.”

And just like that, Jihoon has said his piece. He takes a long sip of his drink and it burns on the way down his throat.

For what is probably only minutes but feels like hours, Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. In his cup, all the foam from his cappuccino has disappeared.

“You’re asking me to try again. With Soonyoung?” Wonwoo simplifies Jihoon’s ramblings and basically repeats them to him. “That’s what you want me to do, Jihoon?”

I saw the way you looked at him. You’d worship at his feet if he’d let you. I used to think you might feel those things about me. It’s probably better that you don’t. That you didn’t. It’s no good. I’m not built for it. It’s better this way, alright? I’ll never be right. I can’t be something I’m not just because you asked and it would hurt me everyday if you did ask. I’m not a good person. I’m selfish. I don’t know how to remember to be a good person when I want something.

There’s so many things Jihoon could say. Instead, he says, “it’ll be better. For the three of us, I think. Work is about to get really busy for me again and you — you and Soonyoung can try it out, one more time. Because it makes sense.”

“Is that really what you want me to do, Jihoon?”

Jihoon is reminded of when Wonwoo found him in the club. He nods.

“Okay,” Jihoon had expected Wonwoo to be happier when he said it. He had expected the same from Soonyoung too but he was more nonchalant about the whole thing. “If that’s really what you want, Soonyoung and I can give it another shot.”

“Good.” Jihoon nods. He moves to take another sip of his drink.

His mouth tastes like sour grapes.

fin.