Archive of Our Own

hwa  sent you an article:

SAN of WDIG rumored to have a private concert at…

Pls tell me you did NOT write this

who tf

i’m offended you think i wrote such a horrendous article

not every rumour spreading asshole is me yk

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way

why were u mad tho??

are u fucking the lead singer

No. I’m seeing his bodyguard actually

why are you acting like that’s an upgrade

oh maybe it is lmaoo

less chance of stds ig

What???

look hwa, every rockstar has either a drug or sex scandal. nothing else more interesting

its why i dont write about them

I guess you’re right. All San’s articles are about his dick size

what the hell

like i said, boring!

In the grand scheme of things, what Wooyoung does isn’t that bad.

You see, there’s a certain hierarchy for the evils one encounters the moment one steps into a world of awe. There are fans, as evil as they come, with their grimy hands begging for attention and their shrill screams outside what’s supposed to be a private hotel room. Then, there’s a slight curve to the path, there you will find what Wooyoung is. He argues that it’s way different than being an actual lovesick stalker of a fan, what he does could even be considered classier. But finally, at the top of the hierarchy, are the damn celebrities themselves. It’s the main reason why Wooyoung even squeezed himself into this line of work anyway.

Quick and easy money; the downfall of evil itself– he’s thrilled to be the catalyst of it all.

It’s to be expected that he’s garnered a reputation for himself.

The names people call him online are downright hilarious. The mass reports and death threats do nothing the faze him now. He reads their replies and comments while drinking his coffee like it’s the morning newspaper. He can’t count how many times he’s been wished to go to hell or called a filthy cocksucker. It’s basically fan mail at this point and well— they usually aren’t wrong.

It’s fun for him. At first, it was just an offhand comment, a bizarre accusation that left his phone buzzing with notifications. Then that stupid rumor that he pulled out of his ass turned out to be true. Seeing such a big name enter a court case is one way to discover his talent for journalism, but there is no denying the sheer amusement he gets from hitting the post button yet again. All it takes is a burner account and a catchy alias, with a side of his sharp words and then each and every article automatically goes viral.

It started from being a crude inside joke with his friends to companies contacting him. They said he has a way with words, but after going through all the paperwork and listening to his employer yap about how happy they are he chose them, what they’re really trying to say is that they need someone to do the dirty work.

He’s still doing the same thing he was doing when he first started, spreading very important showbiz news via the most reliable source out there, of course: social media. However, he now does it in a nice apartment with a hefty paycheck, and much much more resources to follow around celebrities for information.

Although, there are certain lines he doesn’t cross. Sure, the nature of his job is unethical, but even so, he only really uses his talents for the worst of the worst. Who cares if this actress is pregnant? Who cares who’s dating who? In an industry where its darkest parts are hidden by glitter and gold, his prying hands are what will bring those problems to light. It’s what absolves him of guilt when posting an article, knowing he’s helping rather than just being a stalking paparazzi. It’s also why his friends seem to enable and even support his doing— his rule of being a flawed ‘hero.’ It’s unlikely of him to break it, so maybe that’s why Seonghwa acted the way he did.

He stares at his phone, rereading their conversation and huffing at the thumbs-down icon at the corner of his last message. He’s been scrolling for a while now, unable to find anything to do with his time. Freedom is one perk of being a paparazzi, but after the huge buzz for his last work, he finds himself too free, to the point that he can’t find anything to get a story from, especially one that could top his last article.

The headline beside Seonghwa’s icon does nothing to enthuse him. Even so, his thumb accidentally opens the link. Just a quick scan and Wooyoung can already tell it’s a bad story. Apart from the horrid interface and elementary-level vocabulary, the entire topic was what he expected it to be— boring. It only serves to fuel the already obsessive fans into thinking they can somehow break in and have their main character moment, and it’s pointless because exposing which stalkers attend the concert would be a much better story.

He stands by what he said to Seonghwa, rockstars are at the bottom of the list of best people to write about. They have the same dating, drugs, and sex scandals all the time, there’s nothing new to write about them. If there are heavy issues, they’re mostly about bands with members pushing 50, and they bore Wooyoung even more. The rock bands people are into at present think that their cocks are relevant enough to be written headlines about.

Speaking of, since he doesn’t have anything to do, he goes back to his favorite pastime: reading badly written articles that don’t contribute anything good to society whatsoever. The band— ‘Where Do I Go?’ is one Seonghwa and Yeosang have mentioned in passing, and maybe he’s heard a song or two on the radio. He doesn’t really care for them that much, all he knows is that they were supposed to have a private concert with an invite-only audience, but the article states that someone leaked the venue. He isn’t interested in what their response is, scrolling down to see if any other sentence is worthy of laughing at, but he stops at a picture.

Dark hair on a head perched on broad shoulders that are made even bigger by the black fur coat resting on it; skin gleaming like the chain wrapped around his neck, rivaling only the shine of the man’s heavily decorated guitar. Choi San— the bottom of the picture reads.

The man is the vocalist, that enough should be obvious. Remembering Seonghwa’s words about the interesting array of articles about Choi San, he decides to indulge in another Google search.

Oh, he didn’t want to say Seonghwa was lying, but he certainly didn’t expect for his friend’s words to be so… literal.

Lead singer of WDIG Choi San spotted at a hotel with two women…

Rumors arise of male ex-idol having an affair with rockstar after pictures get released…

r/WhereDoWeGo : u/theringenthusiast: What size do you think San’s cock is? I mean exact measurements, girth and length and all. I just KNOW its big (reference pics below) I think it’s around like eight…

Technically not all of the sites contain stories, but the sheer amount of people focusing on the rockstar’s genitals outweighs any actual information about Choi San. It’s probably the image he wants to present anyway, every picture he sees, San looks like he’s seconds from dry humping the camera, not to mention the pants he wears that do nothing to contain that enormous bulge—

What?

He’s just… impressive, that’s all. Maybe it’s not even real and he’s putting a sock in there for all Wooyoung knows. He’s a rockstar, a wannabe sex symbol, Wooyoung knows these kinds of people. Nevermind that he hasn’t gotten laid in months because of his job and maybe maybe— San has a pretty voice but that isn’t the point at all. He reads a long thread of explaining how good San fucked them and of all the comments calling them crazy. Wooyoung should be one of them, admonishing the user for even lying like that. But a year already in the industry makes him wonder how many fans he’s fucked, how many agree with the post because San does look like he fucks well.

No! That is not what this is about! Wooyoung is getting antsier as he lays in bed, reaching for the remote to turn the air conditioner higher. He didn’t even realize how much time has passed until there’s nothing on the other side of his window aside from the inky sky and blinding city lights. He’s in Seoul’s centre, walking amongst stars with every tool he needs at his disposal to cut off their wings. He promised himself that he’d never break his one rule, but the self-made instinct making his knuckles itch with the need to write is too overpowering.

A new story.

When he meant he had a lot of resources, he was serious. But that doesn’t mean getting them on his side was particularly easy.

“No, I’m not gonna use Mingi to get you into the damn show.” Wooyoung just sat down on their dining table, two plates in hand that he almost drops because of Yeosang saying that first thing in the morning.

“How did you even—“

“Why even wear earphones if everyone’s gonna hear what you’re watching?” Yeosang unashamedly eats away at the breakfast Wooyoung made, who he just accused of using him. The question makes his ears turn red, suddenly conscious of whatever he’s been watching these past few days. It’s nothing too embarrassing, but he’s watched enough content of Choi San and his little band for Yeosang to think it’s his next gig.

“Plus, that’s an abuse of power. An abuse of friendship even, cronyism if you may.” The deadpan expression on his roommate’s face makes him want to never cook the man a meal ever again, even if the statement and what Yeosang is accusing him of is entirely correct. It’s hypocrisy at its finest, but especially invalid when it comes to the man he works side by side with, protecting Wooyoung with all his geeky hacker tech knowledge or whatever.

“Do not speak on friendship when I smuggled you Park Seo-jun’s shirt from his stylist that you requested.” Wooyoung pouts, shoving the egg into his mouth. Besides, the only reason why he’s going to the concert is because he’s fucking the bodyguard.

“Well, he turned out to be an asshole anyway so that point doesn’t stand,” Yeosang replies immediately after nearly choking on his food at the trip down memory lane. “And what the hell do you want from the band? They’re literally one of the only rock bands left without half the members dead or imprisoned.”

“That’s exactly why you should get me inside. I have like— magical foresight. Band’s too perfect, I know when something’s up.” In a way, it is true. He still believes he’s not technically breaking his moral rules. He’s just… checking if anything’s wrong. If that band does have issues then it’s another payday for him, and if they don’t, that should be good. It should break this weird marathon Wooyoung has been going on.

“Or maybe they’re just… I dunno- nice people? I’ve met them once or twice and they’re like any other dudes you see at a garage party.”

Wooyoung watches as Yeosang gobbles his cooking in record timing, already reaching for his glass of water. Right, Yeosang met them already. He resists the urge to ask, knowing he’d be suspicious of why Wooyoung is ridiculously curious. Which is not the case at all.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day Kang Yeosang sees the good in people! Maybe all that dick is making you see heaven after all.”

“Oh fuck off. Maybe you should get laid so you stop getting off on invasion of privacy.” He drops his plate into the sink unceremoniously, rivaling Wooyoung’s volume. It’s just another day for them, and really, he doesn’t know why Yeosang puts up with him. Whatever the reason, it’s evident that his resolve is slipping.

“So, this totally means you’re asking your boy toy, right?” Completely ignoring Yeosang’s insult for the sake of time (and because he denies being in drought for months now,) he flashes him his signature grin as the man looks back at him in disbelief.

“Wooyoung…” Yeosang warns. He’s always been a master of persuasion, but they never work on Yeosang. Even so, the fact that they’ve been best friends for so long trumps any guy Yeosang is into. When the said man lets out a defeated sigh, Wooyoung places his last cards.

“I’ll suck your dick. I’ll give you my ass. I’ll eat your ass. What does a guy have to do—“

“Ew god no shut up. It’s not up to me, I’ll ask Mingi, alright?” It immediately has Yeosang cut him off, putting his hands up in surrender and not even trying to hide his grimace.

“You’re the best! I’ll have to thank this Mingi guy’s enormous—“ He stands up from the table with outstretched hands, chair screeching. Yeosang rolls his eyes and rejects his hug, throwing the drying rag at his face.

“You should thank mine instead but alright.”

“What—“ Before the words even register, Yeosang is already out the kitchen door. Wooyoung stands there, nerves simmering with anticipation.

And if he wasn’t so focused on thinking about how his little plan was about to be a real, concrete thing, then he wouldn’t have missed the smirk on Yeosang’s face. “Dress nicely for Friday.”

Wooyoung is having flashbacks.

That’s probably not a good thing. The solution the band had for the entire fiasco was to have a public concert, and then an after-party at a very private venue. And of course, he’s Yeosang’s plus one at both. The said man is beside him, the shine in his eyes getting more prominent as the lights go out.

The setting is giving him massive whiplash, taking him back to an older, darker time wherein he used to attend parties weekly, reeking of alcohol, drugs, and sex, all with his black outfits torn to shit because he’d never pass on diving headfirst into a moshpit.

When Yeosang told him to dress nicely, what he actually meant was “dig up your closet” because here he is, in an outfit he would have absolutely eaten up in college. Clad in a black top, with fishnets tight against his skin and a leather skirt barely covering his ass, the look is all too familiar. It’s not like he doesn’t look hot in it anymore, but it’s reminiscent to a time when he used to fuck the people performing on stage. The screams start and then figures appear in the dark— the memories don’t really help his predicament right now.

The beginning of a bassline sounds through the night, the piercing yells of everybody else tuning out as a voice greets them. There he is, in all his glory.

Wooyoung sucks in a breath, the thrill pumping his heart faster.

“Holy shit! He looked at me!” The girl beside him screeches, a sound grating to the ears. He had the displeasure of being situated next to the most delusional pair of friends there are, forced to bond with them and answer their questions because they are what he’s supposed to be acting like. So even if he doesn’t enjoy getting elbowed in the ribs, he plays along.

He’s jumping in front of the stage, hands in the air, and singing songs he would have had on his playlists years ago. Wooyoung screams along with everyone, clutching onto Yeosang’s arm who raises a brow at him, but ultimately starts dancing with his friend. He hasn’t been to a concert in years, let alone allowed himself to have this much fun in the company of rockstars. The admittance of how good he actually feels will never come, especially when he can’t even look at the stage for very long.

If he did, then his eyes would automatically zero in on Choi San. He follows his movements,  the agile hands drifting along the neck of the guitar in fast glides. San’s eyes go closed when he brings the microphone to his lips, filling the entire place with a voice fit for the heavens. Sometimes he takes it in his hand, feet nearing the edge of the stage and kneeling in front of the audience. He’s wearing that same fur coat Wooyoung first saw him in, but there’s nothing underneath it. Swirls of ink painted on his skin get lost underneath the flickering lights, drawing him in even more.

Wooyoung doesn’t stare for very long because he won’t stop. There’s no halting the hammering of his heart in his ears, or the loud voice now rivalling even the fans beside him. He can’t stop his body from heating up when San opens the coat even more to reveal his sweaty torso and holy fuck is he pouring water on his abs?

The screams increase tenfold, a wave of people pushing forward causes him to stumble until he hits the railing. The stage is an arm’s length away, and in his stupor, he doesn’t know why everything is suddenly louder. The same girl beside him screeches the same things she kept saying since the beginning of the show, and as leather boots come into his line of sight, Wooyoung realizes it’s actually true. He looks up and stops dead in his tracks.

San is looking straight at him.

It feels like years before San breaks eye contact, a charge of electricity throughout his body rendering him completely frozen. The thought of seeing those eyes up close and personal later forces him to swallow down a feeling he refuses to name.  

He’s so fucked.

There’s still time to go home. There’s still a chance to turn back.

The time he took repeating those words in his head was also the time spent getting into Yeosang’s car, the twists and turns they took nothing but a huge blur in his rising panic. It was quite literally private, because Jung Wooyoung himself, the nosiest person of the century, didn’t even know a club like this existed. To any sane person committed to their job of being a paparazzi, stepping into the space must feel like a jackpot, but it felt like hell on earth to Wooyoung right now.

He feels tremendously stupid. He’s following Yeosang around who greets a handful of people they bump into while Wooyoung just stays seething on the side. He decides to look around the club instead. Its walls are jet black, hues of silver and gold littering the space entirely made out of marble. Wooyoung thought the extensive security was a bit much, but then everything else came into view. What club has a fucking chandelier?

God, fuck the rich.

The worst part of it all probably has to be that all the faces they pass by are faces he knows. They’re all either friends of people he’s sent to jail or people who he spread rumours about once upon a time. They don’t know him, of course. The very person who brought him here always makes sure his identity his kept safe, but the thought of being trapped in a space filled with the entire fucking industry he swore to take down makes his skin prickle with anxiety.

When Yeosang finally ends conversing with god knows who, he turns to Wooyoung, who’s

staring far away into a corner of the club. He doesn’t want to believe it, convinces himself its a trick of the light and there definitely isn’t a tall man locking eyes with him and walking towards him with purpose. Tugging on his friend’s arm, Wooyoung releases a panicked breath.

“Shit— you think anyone knows me here?”

“Unless they hired a personal investigator to track you down specifically, then no,” Yeosang says matter-of-factly, grabbing two wine glasses from the tray of a passing waiter and handing one to Wooyoung.

“Dude at eleven o’clock says otherwise.” Wooyoung’s eyes flicker around the room, looking at anywhere but the man who is now evidently taking long strides in his direction. He takes a quick sip and the horrible taste makes the horrible feeling in his guts turn even more bitter.

Yeosang, his good, lovely friend Yeosang, who he thought had half a brain to notice that Wooyoung is losing his goddamn mind, whips his head to the direction Wooyoung is avoiding and gives the stranger a once over. “Oh, he’s hot. Well, at least you can have a good hate fuck.”

Wooyoung’s face morphs into one of mortification. He’s one second away from breaking the glass over his head. Yeosang, ever so unfazed, merely shrugs and downs his remaining alcohol. “Sex is always a little more fun when you feel guilty.”

Right as he decides it’s time to grab Yeosang’s arm and run the fuck away, the man’s phone vibrates. His face lights up as he looks at the screen.

“—oops. You deal with that. Mingi’s calling.” No way. No goddamn way Yeosang is leaving him in a den of lions for this Mingi dude— but that’s exactly what happens when Yeosang pushes through a group of people and presses the phone to his ear. Wooyoung immediately tenses, clutching the wine glass until his knuckles turn white.

“Seonghwa?” His friend’s distant voice reaches his ears. He would have laughed at the situation Yeosang put himself in, if not for the very pressing issue of the mystery man now in front of him.

“Hi there.” He hears the deep voice amidst the booming of music. He turns to the man, acting surprised at the sudden approach. He looks at him properly, a full suit and gloved hands peculiar in the setting.

“Hey.” Nice. Cool. Totally natural. Wooyoung wants to jump off a cliff.

“I’m Yunho.” Yunho introduces himself kindly but doesn’t make a move to let out his hand. He’s kinda just.. standing there which makes Wooyoung more nervous than he already is. He tries to wrack his brain if he’s ever written about or mentioned a Yunho but he draws a blank.

“Hello, Yunho. What’s someone like you doing here?” Wooyoung asks, the playful tone coming out naturally. Maybe Yeosang is right and fearing all these people is counterproductive. Now he wonders if Yunho is just actually being friendly. Yeosang is right about the man being hot too… and the band is no where to be seen anyway. Maybe another good looking man is what he needs to forget about another good looking man who only looked at him once—

“I work for them.” And just like that, Wooyoung’s illusions are shattered. There’s no harshness in Yunho’s words, but the knowing look on his face tells Wooyoung everything he needs to know. He almost wishes Yunho was some weirdo he got canceled. “You? As far as I know, the members-only invited close acquaintances.”

Wooyoung falls silent, chewing on his bottom lip for seconds while the man just waits for an answer. There’s no denying it when there’s certainty painted across Yunho’s face. “Look, Yunho. We can talk about this properly, hm? I’m a generous person. You know I have a lot to offer—“

“No need for that.” Yunho reaches the inside of his suit jacket, activating Wooyoung’s fight or flight for a split second, before realizing he’s pulled out a folder. He stares at it, dumbfounded. Yunho must expect him to take it but he gets distracted by a wave of howls and loud greetings from everyone in the room. The crowd flocks to one corner, and once they dissipate, he understands why. The star of the show has arrived— Choi San is right there.

“Please take this to San.”

“What?” He turns his head so fast that even he’s surprised it doesn’t break. He takes a look at the folder, then at Yunho whose face is unfortunately fully serious, and then his eyes drift to the corner of the club.

He gulps, finding San already staring back at him.

“He’s asking for you.”

Shame is hot, burning within him. Yunho disappeared before he could even ask what the fuck he was talking about. For all he knows it could be a lie and he’s just being fooled. But there’s no mistaking the eyes boring into his own, or the grin present on the rockstar’s face. The sea of bodies between them seems so large, but the unmoving stare pulls him in, a magnetic sensation urging Wooyoung to let the tide take him.

Walking there, unable to tear his eyes away from San, feels akin to a prey offering itself to a predator. Though his legs don’t stop, every light is hazy and sound muffled as nothing seems to matter except for meeting his own demise. He had all the time to throw the folder to the ground and book it— he wasn’t even meant to be here in the first place. But he doesn’t because all it takes is sharp eyes looking him up and down for him to close the distance between them.

The last step he takes is loud in his ears, stopping in front of San. He must look hilarious, a folder and wine glass in hand, deciding that the floor is the most interesting thing in the room because he’s physically unable to look up. Then the fucker chuckles, he laughs and it makes Wooyoung clench his fists.

“That won’t do.” A low voice says. There’s a lone finger forcing his chin up, and another hand wrapping around his waist, moving downwards and squeezing his ass.

That’s what snaps Wooyoung out of acting like a bumbling school girl, like the fire in his blood lighting a fuse, he grabs the man’s wrists and

digs his nails into the flesh. He’s here for a reason. He remembers who he is and why he’s here— and that person relishes in the hiss San lets out,  in the way surprise is painted all over his face as he pulls his hands away.

“Do you do that with everyone?” Wooyoung grits through his teeth, an attempt of a smile topped with the sickeningly sweet voice coming out of him. San rubs at his wrists and laughs airily, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Of course not.” San admits, and Wooyoung wants to roll his eyes. But he doesn’t so instead, he tilts his head and San mirrors the action. His skin prickles with anger even more because San doesn’t hide the way he slowly looks Wooyoung up and down. “But you’re a new face, a really fucking hot one.”

“I’m flattered I managed to catch the attention of the Choi San. Who would have known?” Wooyoung narrows his eyes, putting down the wine glass on the bar top. Yeosang doesn’t call him a male manipulator for nothing, the tension leaving his shoulders and easily slipping into a role he was practically made for.

“You do. You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Or maybe the wine is stronger than he thought it was. The accusation doesn’t get lost on him, but he swears he’s imagining the clench of San’s jaw. It’s a trick of the light, the way his eyelids flutter when his gaze drops to Wooyoung’s skirt.

“It’s working.” He whispers loud enough for San to hear, too breathy for his liking.

The music that plays pisses him off even more, loud in the silence that follows. He wants Wooyoung to know he’s checking him out, tongue darting out to wet his lips. That’s the only time Wooyoung notices the shine of silver hidden in his mouth. San has a fucking tongue piercing.

He’s been trying to force his irritation to get the best of him, spite has always made him more confident to do the stupidest shit. Although, just for tonight, he allows himself to admit one thing— San is the personification of all his wet dreams.

He feels weak in the knees when the man clicks his tongue, it’s the only time he properly looks.

He didn’t even bother changing. San’s still wearing absolutely nothing underneath his black fur coat, hues of purple and blue lights flashing across the expanse of skin. He’d begrudgingly accepted that San had a body chiselled by the gods when he performed, but this time he manages to see the patterns littered on his torso. A sword going down his sternum, and then a large phoenix starting from his chest tucked away into his clothed shoulder. He would have said it suits him, whatever their meanings are, but all Wooyoung could think about was how his body would look, how his tattoos would stare back at him while he’s underneath San and—

“What’s your name, beautiful?” San breaks the silence and makes Wooyoung flinch. It’s Wooyoung’s turn to huff out a laugh like the question is so perfectly timed it had to come after San groped and practically eyefucked him.

But in the split second of quiet that envelopes them once again, Wooyoung can’t open his mouth. He didn’t really expect to get this far, so before he can think of any repercussions, he blurts it out.

“Jung Wooyoung.”

San looks almost satisfied like he knows Wooyoung is telling the truth. “Pretty name for a pretty face.”

“Now you’re just sweet-talking me.” Wooyoung waves him off, his teasing tone making San hum in disagreement. The stool San is sitting on squeaks when he leans forward, the small difference in height making him slightly look up at Wooyoung. Even so, the heaviness of his gaze has Wooyoung wanting to curl in on himself. He still feels trapped, and small in the presence of San.

“You’re the first person who should know that I’m not just all bark and no bite,” San says lowly. His hand is hovering over Wooyoung’s back, the small gesture like an apology for his earlier actions. He’s tight-lipped, and the condescending smirk on his face is no longer present.

There’s a sort of power he feels in knowing San is waiting for his permission. In a surge of confidence, he’s the one who steps closer. A shaky hand presses against San’s collarbone, traveling lower, palm feeling every inch of skin, trailing all over the designs he imagined touching before. He ends up with his hand right against the man’s heartbeat.

Wooyoung’s breath hitches when he locks eyes with San, the pulse underneath his touch quickening. “Show me how you bite, then.”

That stupid grin is back on his face. That’s all it takes for Wooyoung to pull his hand away from the other. The blush is high on his cheeks, fueling the chuckle that escapes San. He gestures to the (admittedly forgotten) folder Wooyoung is holding.

“Open this for me, sweets.”

This Non-Disclosure Agreement is effective…

“Oh.”

He has slept with people to get quality gossip before, but all of them were nobodies, people in the background no one cared to look at. What San said was a lie, all of this is a lie, a poorly made plan driven by impulse. He doesn’t know shit about what he’s doing. What exactly is he doing here? What exactly does he plan to achieve? He told himself that it was for a new story, something that would be large.

San is enormous. San is large, in more ways than one. But most importantly, San is a celebrity. A celebrity who wants to have sex with him.

“You know, Wooyoung. You’re an interesting character. Most fans like you deliberately go here for one thing. You just don’t do this on a whim.” San rests his elbow on the bar top, amusement twinkling in his eyes the longer Wooyoung takes to drown in his helplessness.

“Th-that’s not—“ All his earlier confidence is gone, the stutter of his voice making the red hue on his face reach his ears. What San is saying is correct, it should be how San sees him. An obsessive fan crashing into a party for him— and that’s what Wooyoung is supposed to be. He’s rehearsed his actions over and over again, to play his cards right and be in San’s bed… for what? To satiate his curiosity? To write an article about his dick that’s been written about a hundred times over?

“No. You planned this, getting all dolled up for me, swaying your hips, and letting me touch this tight ass-“ As San rasps it out, the foreign touch right on his ass comes back. His palm is flat against the leather of his skirt, cocking his head to the side at the gasp Wooyoung lets out. “-then you get mean, you push me away and act all shy. And then right when it’s in front of you, you’re suddenly hesitant? What? First time stalking someone?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but with Wooyoung’s scrambled brain he wants to shake his head no. He wants to tell San that he’s basically a fucking expert at this. But then he’d have to face it, that his grin alone has managed to make Wooyoung go near into insanity in just one night. While Wooyoung doesn’t move an inch, too lost in rereading the agreement over and over again, San sighs. He looks disappointed at Wooyoung’s lack of reply, he’s fucking pouting. That shouldn’t light a fire in his gut but it does, urging him to press his thighs together as subtly as he can.

San’s gaze flicks downwards and his lip twitches, so there’s no way he doesn’t know. Even an idiot would know what this is going to end up in. This bastard wants Wooyoung to say it. He wants him to be what he’s acting as begging for any smidge of affection the rockstar gives him.” Or maybe I really got the wrong message. If that’s the case then I can just take this—“

“Wait.” Wooyoung reels his hand back, the folder slightly crinkling with his tight hold. San looks at him with faux surprise before the expression that Wooyoung has now dubbed The Asshole Face comes back in full swing, his smile practically reaching his eyes.

“What’s that?” San leans in, using his grip on his ass to pull him closer. Wooyoung swallows thickly, watching the club lights cast shadows all over the sharp edges of San’s features. It’s a good thing San is sitting because if he was the one looking up at San instead of the other way around, then Wooyoung’s sure his knees would have already buckled. The more he comes up with pointless excuses as to why he’s here, standing in front of San the more there is only one reason their bodies are alight, pressed together in the dimness of the club.

“I want it.” He wants this. His entire night has been filled with lies and half-truths. But here and now, he closes his eyes and whispers it with his entire chest, his entire honesty. He wants San to fuck him.

“I don’t see that.” San murmurs, expectant, the tips of his fingers grazing the skin where his skirt ends.

“Then let me show it to you.” Wooyoung purrs. Throwing all caution to the wind, he reaches for the hem of his skirt. He has the pleasure of seeing the moment San’s breath catches in his throat, lifting up the cloth until it goes past his waistband, revealing everything for San to see.  Cool air hits his thighs, the sensation a painstaking reminder of how San is gawking at him— black panties barely containing the lips of his pussy with streaks of wetness painting the inside of his thighs.

Surprise. Panic. Arousal. They all flash on San’s face, eyes frantically going up and down from Wooyoung’s smirk and to the sight of his barely covered pussy. His smile widens at how San’s breaths come out labored, with both his hands automatically gripping Wooyoung’s hips and pulling him in. “What are you doing? F-fuck. Come here.”

San shifts in his seat, the harshness of his hold making Wooyoung stumble a little. He ends up straddling the man’s thigh, just where he wants to be. He anchors himself on the man’s bicep, looking up to see the rockstar biting his lip. The expression on his face sends a jolt of electricity through Wooyoung’s spine. San already thinks he’s different, and has already declared so. If the bruising grip on Wooyoung’s hips is anything to go by, he likes it.

“Been like this since you were performing.”

He tests the waters, the fur of his coat soft underneath his fingers, but he uses his hold on the hard muscle underneath to rock himself against the man’s thigh. Once. Twice. It feels incredible. The leather presses onto his wet cunt sending shocks of arousal all throughout his body. He starts grinding in earnest, thighs clenching around San’s own, chasing the friction and making little sounds escape his lips.

“You’re crazy, sweetheart. God, you're ruining my pants. What if someone sees you like this?” San huffs in disbelief, but his hands stay unmoving on Wooyoung’s hips. He stares at where their bodies meet, his eyes heady with both awe and unbridled lust. Anyone would think he’s unbothered, anybody else would think he’s eerily calm, but Wooyoung knows otherwise. Even in the flashing lights, he can feel the bulge brushing against his thigh, he can hear the groans low in his throat, he can see his dick twitch through his pants at the unmistakable sound of squelching.

“I’m a nobody, San. I don’t care.” Wooyoung starts, hands moving upward to wrap around San’s nape. He would think about how he obviously does care later. An inevitable time where he shames himself for doing something he swore he’d never do would come. But that doesn’t matter, not when there’s a man that looks like he’s about to devour Wooyoung whole. But he’s the one on top, he’s the one making Choi San pop a boner in his own goddamn party. Playing with a little fire isn’t going to burn him.

“Maybe you should be more worried about people finding out you’re blushing like a virgin over some humping.”

The statement makes San snort. He allows himself to be pulled in until the tips of their noses are touching. San lets his eyes fall closed, lips upturned into a smile as he huffs out a laugh. “There you go again. Dunno if you even want this—“

“I’m already showing you, aren’t I? Not everyone’s gonna kiss your feet, unfortunately.” His hips slow down into a filthy grind, the action making his skirt hike up until San can see how soaked he is. It effectively shuts him up, even more so when Wooyoung throws his head back in a moan. Wooyoung licks his lips, watching San’s ears turn red. “I think you’re just used to being jumped by groupies.”

“And you aren’t one?” San questions, out of breath. Wooyoung’s eyes roll to the back of his head with one last drag against the rockstar, he leaves a trail of slick on his leather pants. Those dark eyes are laced with accusation, waiting for an answer. He’s glaring in warning, practically telling Wooyoung to stop riding his thigh in public. He doesn’t do any of those, and instead, takes a lone finger to slide a strap of his top down his shoulder.

“If Sannie wants me to act like a desperate slut so much, then he won’t mind signing my tits, right?”

The words leave his mouth in a breathy whine, taking in every shift of San’s features— almost moaning at the way he holds in a groan of his own. His eyes trail over the bareness of Wooyoung’s shoulder down to his chest, barely covering his nipples. A hand on his waist tightens its grip, while the other detaches from him to reach into the pockets of his coat. He pulls out a marker, biting the top of it to uncap it. For a moment, Wooyoung thinks he’s just doing it for laughs and that he wasn’t actually going to. But yet again, San proves him wrong.

San stares at him with such intensity that he feels himself pull away ever so slightly. To no avail, the other only leans in further, his lips pressing against Wooyoung’s collarbone while another hand finds the opposite strap of his top and slides it down as well. San doesn’t break eye contact, looking up from where he’s sucking a mark onto Wooyoung’s chest. The ink is cold on his skin, bleeding from the marker just above his already-hardened nipples. He takes a deep breath, making San bite the meat of his chest the same time a light pressure writes on the other side.

He pulls away and Wooyoung feels like he can breathe again. But the realization of the sign— the name boldly written on his chest makes stars dance in his eyes, the lights of the club nothing but a blurry haze. San licks his lips before pulling up the straps and fixing his top, hiding the mark only he knows is there. A promise of what’s to come, a claim for the fan he’s chosen for the night.

“Sign the NDA before I fuck you over this counter.” San gruffs, jaw clenched. Wooyoung smirks, stealing the marker from San’s hand and leaning over the counter. He barely remembers the words in the agreement, zeroing in on the blanks he’s supposed to write on.  The traces of the marker look misplaced, thick, and bold on the paper. Though, neither of them cares, especially the rockstar. Once Wooyoung finishes signing it, the folder is immediately closed, taken from the table, and tucked into San’s arm.

San gently slides him off of his lap, offering his arm to Wooyoung. The loud thumping of the music, with his heart singing along to the beat, he couldn’t hear practically every single thought in his head screaming at him to not do this. All he sees is an outstretched hand and how unfair it is for a human being to have a face and body like that.

Sucking in a breath, he hooks his hand around San’s, then, he’s already being pulled.

Everything happens way too fast for his liking. Door after door, turn after turn, guard after guard— all of it seemed excessive. The logical explanation would be that it’s because there are a lot of celebrities inside the venue, but in Wooyoung’s state, how natural everything is to him. At some point, the folder is gone, handed to someone that seems to embarrass him even more. San is focused, never letting Wooyoung’s hand go, but also not saying a word. He doesn’t know where the man is leading him, following mindlessly and not questioning a single thing.

When they enter an elevator and San punches numbers into a keypad before pressing the lowest floor, Wooyoung finally opens his mouth.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” He laughs nervously, the heat of the elevator emphasizing their closeness, the hand once holding his own wrapping around his waist and inching lower.

“Paparazzi’s are my biggest fans, you know?” Wooyoung has to hold in a flinch and holds his unwavering gaze on San. They both seem like they’re waiting for something like the ball to drop. But it’s impossible that San knows, he wouldn’t do this otherwise— still, the comment drives a knife into Wooyoung’s pride.

“That’s debatable.”

“Really, now?” San replies almost immediately, raising an eyebrow at him. There’s no way in hell he knows, Wooyoung manages to fully convince himself. San is just testing him, that’s it. He schools his expression into one of indifference, and morphs it into desire.

“Mhm. Big difference actually, you don’t take paparazzi home, do you?” He lowers his gaze to San’s lips, then looks up at the man through his eyelashes. He’s slightly surprised to see that San looks back at him, expressionless, pupils moving hastily as if searching for something in Wooyoung’s features.

“You’re right.” San huffs in a laugh, finally looking away from Wooyoung when the elevator doors open. It opens to a parking lot with surprise, more security. Once that’s settled, Wooyoung is led to a corner and greeted with a sleek black car. San pulls away to open the passenger’s side.

“Well then, can I take you back to my place?”

He settles himself in the passenger’s seat wordlessly, but that single action alone tells San all he needs to know— yes, a thousand times, yes.

The car ride was unbearably silent, save for the squeaks of leather every time Wooyoung shifted in his seat. He could have reached over and gave San’s dick a little rub, but the roads were wide and the car was surely speeding, and he is not about to be in an accident before he gets good dick. He could have touched him but he was more focused on not touching himself, everything felt too fast and too slow at the same time. Before he even knows it, they’re exiting a parking lot and making out in an elevator.

Wooyoung’s hands tangle and tug in San’s hair, lips moving in a rhythm the same as the loud pulse in his ears. The stuffy elevator only adds to his desperation, heat enveloping them both while the floor beneath moves them upward. Wooyoung can’t think, he can’t breathe with San’s tongue down his throat. He tastes metal, cold in his mouth and dragging along the warmth of his tongue and cheeks. He whimpers and angles his head to kiss San deeper, whose lips curve into a smile against his lips.

The hard railing digs into his back as San pushes him more and more against it until he’s forced to stand on his tip-toes. The only time they pull away is when the doors slide open, but even then, San doesn’t spare him a minute, immediately pulling him by the waist and devouring his mouth once again. How they got in and kicked off their shoes was lost on Wooyoung, especially when the sight of grey walls only came in flashes. How could he focus on that when San’s hands smoothly take off his fur coat? When Wooyoung takes advantage of the moment and starts feeling and squeezing the sturdiness of his shoulders and arms? Somewhere along the way, they stumble into a bedroom, belonging to nobody but San.

“Safeword?” San asks the moment they pull away. Wooyoung blinks, trying to recall the last time he had to use one, let alone have somebody ask for it. He has no time to figure out why San looks at him so darkly, or how far the rockstar intends to take it, because he’s already breathing it out.

“—Fender.”

Something akin to curiosity twinkles in San’s eyes. Of course, Wooyoung didn’t make that up on the spot. As if sensing a history, a reason to the word, San only chuckles in amusement. “Classy.”

San is more than just a singer. More than just a  person shouting on stage. It was obvious the first time he watched a video of him, made even more apparent once Wooyoung saw him in his element. San is a performer. He’s different from all the nobodies Wooyoung used to fuck. Their drug-addled irises and sleazy gazes were no match for the rockstar. He moved with such ferocity but the voice coming out of him was that of an angel. His pupils would dilate and he’d change into an entirely different person once he held a microphone and struck his guitar. Then, he’d flash a smirk, he’d take his lips to someone’s ear and whisper filthy promises. He lures people in and he knows what he’s doing. Just with one simple coo and people would do his bidding.

“Get on your knees.”

Perhaps deep down he still thinks Wooyoung is the same as all those fans banging on his door to fulfill their delusions. San may be a performer, he makes a living by putting on a persona on stage and acting like his life depends on it. San may be a performer but Wooyoung is a liar, who has lived off of lying and thrives off of it. Because, unlike San who enjoys the thrill of being on stage, Wooyoung stays behind the scenes, doing just about anything to take down people like him.

The difference of their lives hits him like a freight train. That’s how he realizes he’s letting San play him like a fiddle. He knows he’s barely winning this game they’ve created the moment he signed that NDA, the moment he allowed himself to be kissed all over, and yet like he’s grasping onto the lives he has left, he breathes in. If the things he believed in are slowly crumbling, then might as well enjoy it, might as well make it harder for Choi San.

“Not with that tone.”

San raises an eyebrow and chuckles. He looks taken aback but indulges in him. “How else am I supposed to say it?”

“Nicely.” He doesn’t miss the way San’s eye twitches. Good, Wooyoung wants to see those eyes burn with rage.

“Don’t worry, baby. A slutty mouth like yours could take it. It’s not that big.” San starts unbuckling his belt, his words contradict the bulge in them, and Wooyoung worries the leather is about to fucking rip. It makes Wooyoung roll his eyes, trying to stop himself from thinking about how San is being a snarky bastard because all those articles weren’t lying.

“Ah, I knew all this was too good to be true.” Wooyoung gestures but he doesn’t look down, he’d salivate if he did. Or worse, he’d actually go down on his knees before he got what he wanted.

“So you think I’m hot?”

“Apparently not hot enough to fuck my throat properly.” He holds San’s gaze as the smirk on the man’s face slowly goes from genuine to forced. He’s tight-lipped, squinting at Wooyoung as if to gauge if he’s really serious. He simply bites his lip to contain his own smile, batting his eyelashes in a way that would put even the sweetest seductresses to shame.

He doesn’t receive the expected reaction, because the furrow in San’s brow gets deeper. He’s baring his teeth but he isn’t smiling, eyes boring holes into Wooyoung’s own. It doesn’t matter because the words come out clearly, going straight to Wooyoung’s core. A win is a win.

 “…Can you get on your knees for me?”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Those simple words wouldn’t be hard, except that Wooyoung really didn’t expect San would ask properly. If Wooyoung were less of a brat, then sure, but this is the point where his partners would usually drag him by the head and force their cocks inside his mouth— and given the track record of all the pretentious guitarist’s he’s slept with, he didn’t put it above  San. Maybe he would, once Wooyoung pushes him harder. And maybe that’s what Wooyoung intends to do.

But as his knees knock against the hard floor and he looks up to see San staring back at him expectantly, he’s slightly at a loss. His hands automatically fly to his belt, completely taking it off and throwing it to god knows where. But after that, he freezes as he takes in just how big San is. He gulps, breath picking up as he hooks his fingers in both San’s pants and the waistband of his underwear beneath. His cock stands proudly, almost hitting Wooyoung’s face as he releases it from his confines.

Wooyoung blinks, taking in the sight. Then San is opening his mouth again and his irritation comes back in full swing. “Are you just going to—“

He wraps his hand around San’s cock. Even his long fingers look small around it, but that doesn’t stop him from tightening the circle of his arm and stroking the length. San jolts, hand flying to grip Wooyoung’s wrist. Wooyoung doesn’t stop, pumping him dry.

“Fuck.” San hisses out. It was only to shut him up, and Wooyoung knows the friction must feel so painfully good if the way San bites his lips and bucks his hips is anything to go by. He brings his lips to the tip, kissing it softly before his tongue darts out to lick the dripping precum off of his slit. He leaned in closer to tilt his head, now mouthing the tip like it were a pair of lips he was making out with.

He looks up to see San, panting while he licks his lips. His styled hair slowly falls over to cover his eyes, but the unmistakable hunger in them is still apparent, sending a jolt of electricity through Wooyoung. He takes the head of San’s cock inside his mouth but never goes further, the friction of his other hand sliding up and down enough to make him curse again. There’s a hand resting on his hair, unmoving, taunting Wooyoung of what San could do— of what he can make San do. The thin veil of composure is still there, and that simply can’t be.

“Oh fuck—!”

He takes all of San’s cock in one go, jaw going slack and throat constricting around the length. He wills himself to breathe through his nose, adjusting to the size because it’s in so fucking deep. It’s worth it because San has to steady himself, letting out a groan as he looks down at Wooyoung. But with a shift of San’s hips, he finds himself gagging around it. San moves again, now with purpose. He grips San’s thighs the same time the hand in his hair tightens and pulls until his nose is flush against San's abdomen. His other hand travels down to pinch Wooyoung's nose.

Wooyoung sputters around the cock, attempting to pull himself off. The hold on his hair prevents him from doing so, keeping him still as he's sure drool drips down to his chin. Only then Wooyoung realizes the position he’s in, how he’s kneeling beneath San and he can’t breathe.

“Someone hasn’t been practicing.” San tuts, like somehow Wooyoung should be sucking dick on the daily, should be able to take it without gagging. But maybe he did need practice, because his glare does nothing to deter San from his harsh hold, even when dark spots litter Wooyoung’s vision. San only responds with a breathy groan, letting him breathe for one second before pulling his hips back and filling Wooyoung’s mouth until his throat squeezes around his cock. Wooyoung whimpers every time the tip of San’s cock hits the back of his throat, forcing him to relax even with his burning lungs.

“Yeah, that’s right. I knew you could take it. Look at me. Look.” The praise goes straight to his groin, a moan making San wince at the vibrations against his skin. The sounds of his mouth, slick with spit and letting out obscene gagging noises are the only things echoing Wooyoung’s ears. This is the only time he’s ever cursed his love of leather, the skirt too thick to rub himself over it, so he clamps his thighs shut, rubbing them together to give him some sort of friction. San laughs above him, looking sickeningly amused as Wooyoung squirms. His skin prickles with heat and embarrassment, because he has never been this worked up over getting fucked in the mouth. But then again, nobody is like San. Every sensation is muted by the feeling of San’s cock carving itself into his throat. He can only imagine what it must feel like pushing into his–

Click.

He opens his eyes, belatedly realizing the cause of the burn in them. A flash of light, straight at him, belonging to the phone pointed at his face. If Wooyoung’s mouth wasn’t already open, his mouth would be agape. When San stills and peeks from behind the phone to look at him, only then does he realize the rockstar took a picture. His eyes widen, sitting up on his knees to push San’s hips away from him to scream what the fuck?!  But San only tightens his grip, forcing his head still as he thrusts in and out of Wooyoung’s throat. His hands scramble uselessly to scratch and claw at San’s forearms, because the sound of the record button being pressed makes his insides heat up even more.

“I didn’t know you had such unorthodox methods, Wooyoung.” His entire body freezes, unable to move, or even fight back because the words fail to register in his mind. When they do, his mind goes blank. He can only feel the cock in his mouth. He can only hear the beating of his heart amidst the sounds of wet gagging. No sweetheart, no baby, no anything. Just his name— a reminder of who he is, what Wooyoung always does flawlessly, the same thing he came here to do.

All it takes for everything to be ruined is San knowing just exactly who Jung Wooyoung is.

“What did I do to anger you, hm? I haven’t even been doing anything bad to have you on my tail like this, have I?” Panic rises in his chest even more. Though, he makes no move to stop San from abusing his throat. He stares at him, dumbfounded and shocked beyond belief. He’s looking up at the phone with wide eyes, and the only thing he can think of is not how he gets out of this situation, but what San would do to him if he admitted it.

“Don’t look at me like that.” San utters it so softly anyone would mistake it for affection, but the hand tugging his head back says otherwise. He squints as another flash of light assaults his eyes, belatedly realizing that was his phone, now gone from his sight before he can even question how he got it. “You asked for this. You followed me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grimaces at the way he sounds, voice raspy, raw, and pathetic even to his own ears. He tries to catch his breath, eyeing San who lets go of him. The rockstar removes the rest of his clothing and sits on the bed, cock standing proudly, leaking and wet with Wooyoung’s spit.

“Come on. I know you aren’t that dumb.” The words snap him out of it. He blinks and suddenly all his thoughts come back to him. His knees hurt from the hard floor, but it’s not enough to distract him from the wetness now coating his thighs. But his biggest problem lies in front of him, in the shape of a rockstar stroking his cock while waiting for Wooyoung to answer with that same fucking smirk he always flashes. He’s been in this position more times than he can count but it’s different now because San holds the entirety of his already wrecked pride in his hands.

“I swear—“

“Sweetheart, I’ll give you two options.”

San simply cuts him off with a groan and a flick of his wrist. “Either you can walk out of here and forget anything happened— not a single article in sight. Or… you can make it up to me.”

He wants to question him because the night was going to end up with them fucking from the start. But then how it is now makes it an entirely different story— San is giving him a choice. The sane option would be apparent, he can leave right now. He can brush off the entire meeting as one by chance, and then never admit to himself how San might just make him leave the paparazzi scene and go back to his old habits. It’s so easy to stand up and go on with his life, but the illogical (and horny) part of his brain urges him to just take what he wants. There’s an ever-growing need inside of him, beckoning Wooyoung to just let himself go and give it to San. Because even when San has all the opportunities to throw him in jail right now, the latter option is the one thing he asks from Wooyoung.

“We both know how you’re going to earn forgiveness tonight, but…” Wooyoung does know. The thought of being filled was the only one present in his mind the second they walked out of the party. But he doesn’t expect the man’s next words.

“No condoms. I don’t have ‘em here anyway.”

“What—“ Wooyoung’s entire world stops. If his knees weren’t permanently planted to the floor with how numb his mind has gone, then it has now.

“I won’t cum inside if you don’t want that. Just wanna feel your pussy around my cock.” The way San says the crude words so nonchalantly makes his gut twist in arousal. He shifts, eyes going glazed as he imagines every ridge and vein of San’s bare cock, not to mention he wants to test just how much San can cum, preferably inside him—

“I don’t think that’s too much to ask from such a dedicated supporter.” San sneers, mocking gaze piercing through Wooyoung. If his Asshole Face wasn’t enough, then the way he shrugs and leans back on his arms to jack himself off makes it even worse. “That is, of course, if you choose to stay and let me hit it raw.”

His career quite literally flashes before his eyes. Is this really what he’s come to? Is this what months of not getting laid does to a person? It’s insane that anyone would risk their entire job just for some dick, but Wooyoung finds that he’s never been sound of mind anyway. There are so many things that could go wrong. San could expose his identity to the public as a paparazzi, he could be imprisoned and everything he’s ever worked for could be gone in the blink of an eye. But it’s honestly absurd how the worst outcome of his predicament is that he’d die if San doesn’t rail him into next Sunday.

The room is in a standstill, save for the sound of his shuffling as he stands up to walk towards San. He’s already made a decision the moment he walked into the door— and the decision doesn’t change even when San’s sneering at him, watching him admit to his lies. All he has to do is show San his choice, so he shuts his eyes and starts stripping, He takes his top off slowly, fingers lingering on his straps before fully pulling it off. San sucks in a breath in front of him. Too embarrassed to see his reaction, he shuts his eyes tighter as he moves to take off his skirt— but a hand lands on his wrist.

“Leave it on,” San mutters before shifting on the bed and leaning back on his pillows. He whistles at Wooyoung like he’s some fucking dog and his hands motion him to the bed. It’d take an idiot to be naive to what San wants him to do. His blood boils with shame and irritation but he does it anyway. He straddles San, thighs on either side of the man’s hips. His cock brushes against the inside of Wooyoung’s thighs and he bites back a sound. But his attention goes towards San who isn’t looking at him, but upwards. He follows the man’s eyes and—

How the fuck did he not notice the mirror before?

Because of course, someone as egotistic as San would have a mirror on his ceiling. His eyes meet San’s who simply smirks and brings out Wooyoung’s phone again. The man lets out a shaky breath and sits on San’s abdomen. He refuses to look at the rockstar, much less the phone adamant about recording every single angle of him.

“Doesn’t feel good to be the one recorded, doesn’t it?” Wooyoung can’t help the whimper that escapes him, his panties are soaked— wet and rubbing against San’s abs. It doesn’t even take a full second for San to notice. “Ah, my bad. I forgot you were a sick freak.”

“What am I supposed to—“

“Show me. Show me how sorry you are.” San breathes out, eyes trailing all over him. Wooyoung’s unsure for a moment, picking apart the words. The memories of the events that happened just an hour prior are what makes him decipher them. Let me show you… And he did so by—

Wooyoung clutches the leather of his skirt, raising the fabric until he feels eyes on his pussy.

The black satin barely covers it anymore, revealing how wet and throbbing his pussy looks. Wooyoung bites his lip and stares at San, knees dragging along the bed to position himself directly on top of the cock resting on San’s stomach. He lowers his hips and releases a harsh breath the moment he presses his pussy on the length. He starts unsurely, simply bucking his hips, but once he feels the pressure on his clit, he moves on instinct.

He’s reminded of what happened earlier, when he was riding San’s thigh. He’s doing the same thing, except now he tries to grasp for control but fails miserably. He’s pulling up his skirt because of San. He’s dripping onto the man’s entire abdomen because of San. Wooyoung is moving his hips, sliding San’s cock between his folds and letting out sound after sound at the friction on his clit— all because all it takes is for San look at him with so much desire for Wooyoung to realize that he’s offering himself up to the rockstar.

“Fuck. You’re so sexy.” San keeps his hands to himself in favor of looking at Wooyoung struggling to hold his skirt up. He looks dazed, eyes fluttering closed whenever he grinds down just right. Everything about this must look obscene— the filthy fantasies of every stupid rockstar come to life. San groans, watching Wooyoung through the phone camera and zeroing on where his cock is sandwiched between Wooyoung’s folds.

“What do you say, baby?” San grins, licking his lips and letting that dot of silver peek out from his mouth. Wooyoung wants to taste it again, wants that cold metal traveling all over his body, wants it on his clit, on his pussy— anywhere as long as San has his mouth on him. But it’s not possible when San is persistent, keeping still even when quiet groans spill from his lips. He seems so unbothered by it that it frustrates Wooyoung to no end.

“Fuck off.” Wooyoung hisses, white knuckling his skirt and almost slamming his hips down at how he grinds faster. His words seem to mean nothing for the man, because a hand hooks its fingers on the gaps of Wooyoung’s fishnets along with the strap of his panties, pulling and effectively tearing them both until his pussy is exposed to the cold air. Wooyoung gasps, but he makes no move to pull his skirt down, or reprimand San, only glaring at how he throws the now unrecognizable cloth to wherever. “Fuck you.”

“Baby.” San says darkly, a warning. Fuck that. If San says to show him then he’ll show him, but Wooyoung will take what he wants in return.

“Can’t ask anything from me when I’m doing all the work.” Wooyoung spits out, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance when San still doesn’t move. If anything, his comment makes the grin on the man’s face even wider. His gaze falters for a moment when the head of San’s cock bumps against his clit. Heat overruns his entire body, and he huffs out because he’s closer than he thought he’d be.

“You know? Your dick won’t make a difference.  I can cum just like this.” That makes San’s eyebrows shoot up. Though, Wooyoung can’t be happy about it because the grin turns into a full-blown chuckle.

“Oh, I see.”

“What—“

His head spins with the force he’s pulled into, head landing on the soft bed underneath him. He’s being turned— then all he sees is himself. Wooyoung’s eyes stare back at him, wide but simmering with desire. He doesn’t react, or rather, San doesn’t give him time to react. His legs are pulled upwards, straightened, and pushed together. He glances back at their reflection, only now, a second pair of eyes turn hooded at the sight above them.

“Gotta make use of that mirror somehow,” San says while he hikes both of Wooyoung’s legs over his shoulder. He’s perplexed at first, but then something pokes between the meat of his thighs, and then Wooyoung realizes what’s about to happen.

“I’m sure you use it a lot.” The first thrust makes his words trail off into a loud inhale. The sight of his torn fishnets, wet with slick, made messier with the clear liquid dripping from San’s cock— is enough to make him keen.

“Flattering.” San lets out a breath through his nose, fixated on the way Wooyoung’s plump thighs swallow his large cock as he slowly pulls his hips forward and back. The sound of skin slapping against skin makes his veins alight, the wet shlick of San’s cock against his pussy making his nails dig into the sheets. He feels the veins of the length rub against his clit and he can barely contain the pathetic whine spilling out of him.

“Wasn’t- wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.” Wooyoung stutters, leaving a bitter taste of shame on his tongue. Once again faced with the fact that he’s never felt like this, blood boiling with aggravation but heating up every orifice of his body until he’s red and panting with need.

“Really now? I think you’re complimenting me just fine actually.” San takes hold of his legs once again, crossing one over the other and Wooyoung can feel the groan rumbling through his chest as the space he’s fucking into tightens. There’s a moan trapped in Wooyoung’s throat, silenced by the way San’s eyes rake all over him.

“San.” It escapes in a high-pitched whine. He was right, San was right. He could cum from just this— if the rockstar didn’t stop fucking his thighs in earnest, groaning out how pretty they are, focused on how strings of Wooyoung’s wetness stick to his cock and how their bodies pressed against each other are unbearably soaked. San has made him eat his own words in record time, because he’s quickly approaching his peak like he said he would but even then he knows he doesn’t want that. At least not until San is inside him. He has to call the man’s name a second time before San looks up at him with a hum.

“You know what I fucking want.” He scoffs, but San just tilts his head at him, almost innocently. Wooyoung would have kicked him in the face if he wasn’t so preoccupied on staving off his orgasm.

“Of course I do, but didn’t you say you could cum from this?”

He does try and kick him this time, to wipe the smug smirk off his face and maybe jump on his dick so he can stop losing his mind. San is faster though, using both of his hands for one to grab Wooyoung’s ankles while the other harshly presses his fingers into the meat of his thighs. He squirms half-heartedly, but the movement only causes him to clench his thighs together even more, drawing a pleased sound out of San.

“I-I.. fuck. No, I can’t. I need more.” He gives up, chest heaving. Never in his life has he felt more put on the spot— vulnerable in all its definitions. Something tells him that the moment San switched their places, his plan of taking what he wants is stolen by the heavy hands holding his legs shut. He will get what San deems he deserves, the words leave him at the same time the thought makes his insides twist.

“More? More what, Youngie?” The nickname slips from his lips and Wooyoung chokes out a curse. As if to emphasize his suffering, San lets the tip of his cock catch on Wooyoung’s entrance. Wooyoung sucks in a breath, glaring at San with so much rage in his eyes that he makes sure the rockstar feels boring into him. It doesn’t faze him, Wooyoung has no idea why he thought it would. San’s smirk only becomes more insufferable. “You should ask nicely.”

Fucking hell, you bastard. Wooyoung wants to scream, to cry because he can’t do this. He can’t beg for someone like San, the kind of person that he’s hated from the start, just from knowing what he does in the presence of stardom. But he finds it harder to hang on to that admonition with every passing second. Right when San gives a few thrusts and ends up pushing against his entrance again but never going further, it’s inevitable that he’d crack. “Please, Sannie. Give me your cock, please.”

“No.”

Huh?

San says it simply, a finality to his words that sends Wooyoung’s brain into overdrive. What? This is what San was waiting for, right? For Wooyoung to beg? To take his ever-rising pride down a notch? What else does he want?

His thoughts turn even more scrambled when San stops his ministrations, his length absent from between Wooyoung’s thighs. It comes out strangled, “What?”

“I’ve been so nice, so welcoming— merciful even. And all you do is be a little fucking bitch to me. Don’t you understand, doll?” Wooyoung stares at him, wide-eyed and panting. No, he didn’t understand at first, but San is making him. San could ruin his life right now, but he chooses not to. He knows in turn he’s been nothing but a headache— but he gets even more lost as he thinks what do I need to do? What will make San happy?

The rockstar lets go of the death grip on Wooyoung’s legs to slide his hands up the soft skin covered in patches and lines of black. Eventually, they land on his ankles once again. Wooyoung misses the heat pressed against him, he misses even the torturous drag of San’s cock on his pussy. As if sensing this, San grabs one of Wooyoung’s feet and presses his lips against the bone of his ankle.

 “I don’t fuck selfish brats,” Wooyoung gasps at the momentary pain, unable to register the words until San lets go of his feet and they fall to his side. He stares incredulously at San,  legs spread wide and biting his lip. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This was never supposed to end up with him nearly miserable over those words, his body jolting in alarm. at the thought of not getting fucked tonight. “much less stalkers.”

Red, hot anger pushes the words to claw themselves out of his throat before he can think.  

“At least I don’t have to take advantage of my fans to get my dick wet.”

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming.

“Oh, you kept that from me?”

A resounding smack lands on Wooyoung’s cheek. Without warning, without a goddamn care for the welt now forming on the skin, San’s palm makes contact with his face. The force of the slap causes his head to turn to the side and he wails.

“Do that again. I fucking dare you.” His cold fingers press down on the redness, trying to blink away the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Mhm. I think I will.” The icy tone bites through him like a shard. Just one glance at him and his entire body freezes. The man whose face is always crinkling with amusement, or the man who desperately kissed him just minutes before— the rockstar that he thought he was slowly deciphering, is gone and replaced by the near feral look on San’s face. Oh, he’s pissed.

Wooyoung can’t find it in himself to move, especially when he feels so pinned down, literally and figuratively. San’s face is devoid of emotion, only darkness and a hint of morbid desire swirling in his irises. He takes Wooyoung’s spread thighs in his hands and thank god he’s flexible because San pushes his knees down until they touch the soft mattress.

“And I think you’ll like it.” He knows to keep his legs in their position even when one hand lets go of its hold. San’s eyes rake all over his body, stopping at his pussy. Wooyoung clenches around nothing at the attention. He expects San to laugh, to make fun of his desperation, but all he sees is a clenched jaw and a raised hand. Before he can realize what’s happening—

“San!”

Pain shoots up his spine, stinging hot into his skin. His entire body jolts at the impact and he clamps his legs shut at the scalding ache right on his pussy. Something between a yell and a cry is torn out of his throat, eyes screwing shut on impulse as San rears his hand and the flat of his palm lands on his clit.

“Keep your fucking legs spread or I’ll tie them up.” He squirms, holding his knees to his chest for protection. His reprieve doesn’t last long because San is stronger- tearing his hands away and forcing his legs open once again. Wooyoung whimpers, opening his eyes and wishing he never did. San’s lips materialize into a grin, tongue licking across the line of his teeth with a clack of metal.

“Take it like the good slut you are.”

Wooyoung does.

He sinks his nails into his thighs hard enough to mark, anything to ground himself, anything to make his open legs stay spread. He doesn’t know what else San is willing to do if he doesn’t do as he says. He doesn’t want to know because a few slaps on his pussy and he can already hear himself sniffling, he can feel the shake of his limbs every time San’s forearm flexes when he dares to move from his position.

Wooyoung expects the next hit, hips arching off the bed. But then there’s another, and another. It’s like his entire body is burning. The heavy hand that keeps coming down on his pussy doesn’t let up, each and every crack of his palm ringing throughout the room.

Every slap against his pussy lands right on his clit and sends delicious pain coursing through him “Fuck- San! Sannie- San!” His voice feels raw, wetly whimpering as his shame anger, and panic rise. It feels so good even if his garbled pleas say otherwise, San hits him in quick succession and then his hips rise and rise—

“Stop, stop. ‘M gonna cum— if you keep—“

“Stop? You were throwing a bitch fit over not getting to cum just a second ago.” San does stop, and yet that makes Wooyoung let out a louder sound of pain. A frustrated noise escapes him and he’s about to kick San again but the words suddenly sink in, the look on San’s face isn’t something he dares to challenge. Not anymore at least, not when San has the capacity to turn him red with anger, dangling a string of pleasure in front of him and never letting him have it. “Come to think of it, you’ve done nothing but abuse my kindness. You think you deserve anything, Youngie?”

Then, it all suddenly makes sense.

San crawls over him, letting his legs fall to his side. He takes Wooyoung’s jaw in hand, a touch so gentle it snaps Wooyoung out of his daze. A thumb rubs at his lips, prying his mouth open. Wooyoung looks up and all he sees is San. San who stares at him with a certain emotion he can’t name. Whatever it is in those dark eyes, they make the puzzle pieces of their push and pull click together.

Show me how sorry you are.

His lip trembles at the daunting realization that San might be the only person who can see him like this, the only person who’s capable of making him like this. Digits prod at his open mouth and his tongue lolls out on its own. His tongue is trapped between his thumb and index finger, the pads of San’s digits rough against his tongue. Wooyoung’s jaw goes slack, and then San starts squeezing.

What the fuck.

Wooyoung’s eyes frantically move across San’s features to tell him anything, that this is a joke, that Wooyoung doesn’t have to break himself down for just a taste of pleasure. But the more he waits, the more drool slips past San’s fingers and drips down his chin. He has never felt so vulnerable, weak at the mercy of a star— all the things Jung Wooyoung shouldn’t be. But that Wooyoung was turned to dust, revealed to be a fucking fake in the presence of the rockstar. San just waits for him, because he knows Wooyoung knows what he’s waiting for.

The realization that San might be the only person he’d want to show this side to for the rest of his days, is what urges the words to come out easily.

“Eh’ hori.”

Tears spring to the corner of Wooyoung’s eyes as he chokes it out. He weakly holds San’s shoulders, long given up on trying to push him away. A sniffle makes his shoulders shake, so desperately trying to hold onto the only piece left of his dignity. But his jaw is only opened wider, tongue forcibly being pulled out to its limits.

“What was that?”

“Hah-ah, ‘M ‘hori.”

San leans over him and spits in his mouth.

A choked whine is torn out of his throat. San’s saliva mixes with his own mess, resting on his aching tongue so Wooyoung can’t do anything but swallow. He feels dirty, violated, and humiliated beyond belief. He’s supposed to like that, but the more he sputters out his own drool, trying so fucking hard not to think about the fire already burning warmer in his abdomen, the more he absolutely hates how San has broken him already. The said man still towers over him, staring at his disheveled state in an expression almost like awe.

“You look fucking pathetic like this. Where’s all that fire gone, Youngie?”

“-o, -ean.” He doesn’t know why he tries, but the words come out instantly the moment San takes hold of his own cock, stroking it just above Wooyoung’s stomach.

“My pretty little slut should stay just like this… drooling just for cock. Maybe I could fuck some morals into you, hm?” Wooyoung’s entire body jolts when he slaps his length on his folds. San snickers, finally, finally letting go of his tongue. The numb pain in his jaw is something he doesn’t think about, especially when San is so so close to giving him what he wants. His entire body goes cold at the absence of San’s skin on his, realizing that the man has pulled away from him. He whines at the loss, but San only gives him a mocking grin. “Or maybe… this sloppy pussy doesn’t deserve me at all.”

It’s too late to stop the tears that spill out.

Or the hands that endlessly rub his eyes raw.

Or how his body wracks with each pained sob.

“So mean. Sannie’s so mean. So mean. Meanmeanmean—“

If Wooyoung wasn’t so caught up in crying into his palms, he would have seen the pure shock on San’s face. Each wail that sounds painful even to San’s ears get even rougher as more time passes with San just staring at him, open-mouthed in disbelief. His dick twitches with every adorable hiccup, a sight to see especially when Wooyoung’s legs are still spread before San, the sheets underneath his thighs already darkened with the amount of slick dripping from him.  

It’s hard to see anything when his vision is blurred with tears. He wants to stop crying. The shame of letting San see him in such a vulnerable state is catching up to him. He wants to stop especially because the dam only broke at the overwhelming thought that San has the power to leave him with no relief. He almost flinches when a hand rubs at his shoulder, but the searing touch is what grounds him. His cries die out little by little, until the only evidence left is the dampness on cheeks and the accusing expression towards no one other than San.

“My bad. That was mean, sweets.” San has the nerve to smile sweetly at him. He hovers over Wooyoung’s face and laughs, condescending and grating to the ears like the one Wooyoung knows. “But you’re so fucking cute when you go dumb.”

Wooyoung whimpers, breath catching in his throat as he feels San’s length slap on his pussy. He stares at San, wide-eyed with a hint of worry in them, scared that San will take it away from him again.

“Sannie’s fucking me?”

“Of course.”

“But I’ve been bad.” He says weakly. Mind still clouded with haze, his eyes go glossy and his lips downturn into a pout. San huffs another laugh, sweeter this time, as a hand comes up to Wooyoung’s face and a thumb rubs at the drying wetness underneath his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’d tie you to my guitar if it meant I’d get to fuck you after every performance.”

Before the small sound even escapes him, San is already diving in to take his lips. Their tongues dance in tumultuous rhythm, desperation and need leaking out of every sound they give and swallow into each other’s mouths. Wooyoung wraps his arms around San’s neck and tilts his head to kiss him deeper. He refuses to stop, egged on by the fantasy of always having this; San’s lips on his, the world around them disappearing as he only drowns in the promise of being a rockstar’s little plaything. Maybe that’s why when they pull apart, the words are already on the tip of his tongue.

San is already one step ahead of him. “Say it.”

“I’m sorry.”

San hums, pressing one last chaste kiss to his lips.

“Gonna stop being a brat?”

“Probably not.” He laughs at his own answer. It’s devoid of his snarky tone or his dark eyes, like the truth in his words is that he physically can’t stop being a brat. He thinks he doesn’t want to stop anyway, if San’s wrath is what he faces everyday. He pauses in thought for one second, then the entire weight of his apology rests on his lips. It’s something that’ll prove his remorse, something that San wouldn’t be able to resist.

“But you can leave me dripping with your cum.”

It’s unreal.

He’s looking at himself from the mirror above. His mascara is dripping down his cheeks, his lips are red and swollen, his fishnets are torn to shit— and his vision turns fuzzy as his eyes roll to the back of his head. Wooyoung feels it before he sees it, San’s cock fills him entirely in one thrust. The strangled moan he lets out is muffled in his ears, a distinct ringing filling them when San bullies his way inside Wooyoung’s pussy. It opens him up, and stretches him so well that he swears to god he doesn’t even have to move to hit his g-spot. He’s already so wet and yet the faint hurt of the stretch proves just how big San is. His hips rise off the bed, nails clawing on San’s shoulders as he tries to catch his breath, but one look at the mirror, he sees the bulge in his abdomen.

Wooyoung wails, toes curling and gushing around San’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck– Youngie.” He can’t distantly hear San groaning out. He forces his cock deeper as Wooyoung squeezes around him, spurring on the liquid landing on his thighs and stomach. Pride swells in his chest when he comes down from his high and sees San breathing heavily, knowing that he’s not the only one so affected.

San starts moving, and the drag of San’s cock is enough for him to squeal. “Shit, you’re so tight.”  San grabs his hips and he speeds up, and Wooyoung’s cries fill the room. The lump is already in his throat, harder to push down when he’s so sensitive and San is hitting the deepest part of him without any remorse. “Thought this would’ve been used up by now.”

Wooyoung shouldn’t be so thrilled. He’s no stranger to people making comments about him, but his sharp words shut them down as quickly as a strike of lightning. But San has proven time and time again that Wooyoung’s silver tongue is deemed worthless in the eyes that pin him down with just a gaze, with the hips that expertly move until the sound of skin roughly slapping skin rivals the volume of Wooyoung’s breathy moans. Whatever Wooyoung thought he was before was shattered in front of his very eyes, because what he sees now is San stripping him bare until he has nothing but his own vulnerability to feast on.

And oh does he feast on it.

Whoever Wooyoung was before could never compare to the person he sees in the mirror right now. His vision doubles as he tries so hard not to go cross-eyed, to see just how truly obscene he looks. If he thought he already looked like a mess, with San’s cock permanently carving a place inside of his stomach, with every loud whine being torn out of his throat, then now, he looks fucking wrecked.

“Look at yourself. Stupid whore’s enjoying this, isn’t he? Tell me that isn’t the face of a dumb fuckdoll.”  

Wooyoung thrashes his head from side to side. Only choked out sounds escape his throat, any amount of coherency gone as San lifts his hips off the bed and uses both his hands to fuck into him even harder. Wooyoung can’t say no, he can’t look at San straight in the eyes to show any sign of defiance for his words because it’s true. The more he sees himself getting ripped apart by San’s cock, the higher his moans get, the more he curses himself and clamps his eyelids shut.

“I said look, slut.”

San slaps his cheek, too light to hurt, but enough for Wooyoung’s eyes to fly open. He tries and tries to let his eyes wander elsewhere but it seems that San didn’t appreciate that too. A hand leaves his hips to grab the sides of his face and squeeze until pain strikes through him. He furrows his brows and then a garbled curse leaves his lips, and of course San notices.

“What was that? Wanna run your mouth again, Youngie?” San gives him a toothy grin, watching as Wooyoung’s mouth tries to open, only for his body to be wracked by another harsh thrust, leaving only pitiful choked-out sounds escaping him. The hand gripping his face has already loosened, the fingers opting to dig into his jaw instead. Something taps on his lip, and he should be ashamed at how easily he takes San’s thumb in his mouth. But he’s not ashamed because San should have seen it coming, that even his broken-down toy can still play. He sucks on the pad of his thumb, tonguing around the digit before biting down.

“For fuck’s sake–” San yelps in surprise, tearing his hand away from Wooyoung. He feels himself hold in a giggle at the sight. Though, the rockstar couldn’t find it any less amusing. His breaths come in angered exhales, and it must not hurt because he doesn’t take any time to recover, hand coming back to Wooyoung’s face except now, two fingers pry his mouth open and thrust in.

Wooyoung moans around the digits, eyes going wide in shock when they slide in his mouth and just keep going. He noticed San had considerably shorter fingers than he did, even intended to ridicule him in the case that he’d finger Wooyoung open, but now, they’re reaching the back of his throat. He gags as the two fingers pump in and out, already feeling drool gather on his lips and spill out onto his chin. This is the second time San had basically fucked his throat, and the third time the man rendered him completely unable to talk, forced to swallow down his protests and look at himself choking in the mirror.

Even so, it always feels the same. San pulls his hips back, leaning his weight over Wooyoung and practically folding him in half, then, he drives his cock inside Wooyoung’s pussy at a speed that can only be described as inhuman. He whines, high and breathy around San’s fingers, which are keeping up with the pace of their fucking, sliding back and forth on Wooyoung’s tongue until all his high-pitched noises turn garbled.

“Disgusting bitch.” San spits out the words with so much venom that Wooyoung almost believes San sees him that way.

Maybe, he’s starting to believe it too. Maybe he wants San to remind him of his place, treat him like a filthy, disposable toy, and fuck him like one again and again.

“Like it when I break you, huh? Want me to ruin you for everybody else?”

That’s the question that makes Wooyoung’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He could think about how San had basically already ruined him at the first strum of a guitar, but he doesn’t, not now. Not when the words make him hold his knees closer to his chest, not when the only thing on his mind is being absolutely wrecked on San’s cock for the rest of his days.

He barely even realizes San is waiting for an answer until the man slows down, grinding his cock into that certain spot inside Wooyoung that makes his pussy throb even harder around San’s cock. He bites down on the fingers inside his mouth, but San doesn’t budge. He stares down at Wooyoung while he forces them deeper, his throat constricting around them and San is still looking at him expectantly.

He’s been begging, pleading with tears in his eyes and doing everything he said he wouldn’t do. Even when San has him pinned to the mattress, there was a little voice in his head telling him that this is still some part of a large elaborate plan to satiate his need of a scandal. Trying to regain a sense of control through his snarky comments, he thought he’d be able to run away from the bleary headspace he was getting into. But right now, as the question digs itself into the deepest part of his brain, he lets himself fall pliant in San’s arms. He lets himself give up.

Shoving down the sound of his wet gag, Wooyoung drools dumbly around his fingers. “Yes! Yes! Luff it- sho good.”

There’s a laugh that trails into a loud groan above him that he barely hears, mind going numb to only focus on the cock stretching his pussy to its limits. San pulls his fingers out and wipes the saliva off on Wooyoung’s face. His body is being so roughly rocked up and down the bed that he fears his head hits the headboard. But it doesn’t happen, instead he hears the thumping of the bed against the wall and prays that such an expensive place like San’s would very obviously have soundproof walls.

That’s the least of his worries anyway, especially when his whines of ‘Sanniesanniesannie’ are the loudest things in the room.

“Yeah? How many times do I have to fill you up so you can quit your job?” San pats his cheek when Wooyoung’s eyes focus and unfocus. He blinks slowly, greeted with San’s heavy breaths fanning on his lips.

San looks ethereal like this, the dim light of the room casting shadows over his body, light cascading down every limb and muscle. His arms bulge every time he drives his cock impossibly deeper into Wooyoung, the lines of ink on his chest and torso staring at the man wrapping his legs around San and throwing his head back. He wishes he could look at San forever, he wishes that the sight would never just be a memory. He tries. He really does try and answer San’s question because something is urging him to throw caution out the window and say yes. I’d quit if this was my everyday. Yes, now. Yes— until you’ve completely owned me.

But all that comes out is.. “Harder. Wan’ your cock to break me. Want to be yours–” And oh does San go harder. Gripping the back of his knees and practically crouching over Wooyoung’s bent legs, San buries his cock so deep inside him the skin distending on his stomach looks almost natural, like it’s meant to be there.

He’s been teetering on the edge ever since San gave him no time to recover from his last orgasm. His body tenses with every thrust against his sweet spot, jolting at the impact on skin against skin. Only now does he feel the coil in his gut start to tighten. His toes curl from where his legs are resting on San’s shoulders, pulling San by the nape to claw at his back.

“Mmng– Sannie. I’m gonna– gonna cum.” Wooyoung can feel the pleasure rising higher and higher. His fingers find San’s hair, gripping his locks so tightly. San responds with a groan, letting himself be pulled into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. The rockstar holds his hips in place, pulling out until his tip catches on the entrance and filling him up in one hard thrust. Wooyoung lets out a surprised moan, cradling San’s head in his hands, basically burying him until something warm and wet licks at the sweat gathered on every bit of skin his tongue can reach.

There’s a nibble on a sensitive part of his neck, causing him to cry out and squeeze around San’s cock. A groan rumbles in San’s throat, the pace of his hips faltering against his is a feeling that Wooyoung knows well. “Fuck yes, baby. Squirt around my cock again.”

His oversensitive pussy has the nerve to throb even more at San grunting the words out. And of course, San has to make it worse, breathing heavily as he trails kisses all over Wooyoung’s jaw. “That’s right get it tighter for me.”

“You’re wasting so much on being a stupid excuse of a journalist.”

Wooyoung is torn between saying shut the fuck up and oh god please keep going because shame and anger is setting his body alight but he’s so so so fucking close and if San doesn’t stop talking the pressure in his gut tells him he’s about to mess up the rockstar’s sheets for the second time that night.

“You’d look so much better being fucked backstage.”

Perhaps this is his repentance. On his knees to take San all the way down his throat, on his back to take whatever mercy San has to give him— this is what San meant when he told Wooyoung to apologize. For all the parties he went to, body and mind addled with every substance imaginable, to the hatred of people up on the screen and treating them like dolls. He’s used people like San for his entertainment for as long as he can remember. This is a reminder that San doesn’t care about his holier-than-thou intentions. He didn’t want empty promises of being good or an endless amount of please please please. Those were tricks in the book Wooyoung has used countless times before and it’d always work. He thought it’d work for San too.

But this is how he atones for all he’s done. This is how San proves all his honey-swirled vows are true. San doesn’t want words out of his mouth, he wants Wooyoung to fall apart. He wants to unravel Wooyoung down to his very core, stripping him bare of everything he’s ever thought to be true, planting a singular thought in his already fucked-out mind. San’s hips move with passion, each and every thrust drilled into Wooyoung’s g-spot a testament to the hunger refusing to disappear from the man’s eyes.

Perhaps his repentance has already finished. Perhaps San sees something in the lights dancing across his irises and considers him ready, considers him perfect enough to forgive. He grips Wooyoung’s hips in his hand, nails painfully digging into the bones of his hips, shoving his cock as deep as humanly possible to see it bulging from where Wooyoung’s soft tummy ends. In the back of his mind, as he stares at San’s eyes, deeming him worthy of finally letting him cum all over the sheets, Wooyoung knows that he would do what San asks of him. He would quit his perfect job and his perfect life to become nothing but a toy in the palm of San’s hand.

The only person who has done this to him. San is the only person he’ll allow to do this to him.

As if reading his mind, there are fingers trailing on his neck, traveling down to his chest. He barely feels the tips of his digits ghosting along the skin until a shaky exhale escapes San. His eyes land on himself once again, and he understands because the sight makes his breath hitch too.

San is staring at the ink across his chest. Ink that belongs to him. A signature from Choi San himself. His body is taken apart bit by bit, every thrust in his pussy is San practically attempting to condition his body into knowing only one cock— but the name signed on his chest is San reinforcing the fact that even now, his mind will never forget the man giving him the best fucking of his life.

In mind and body, San wishes to ruin him. He leans down, tonguing on every line and curve of his own signature. Then he bites. Teeth sink into the meat of his chest and he cries out in pain. San licks and sucks, latched onto that one spot as he locks gazes with Wooyoung. He bites so Wooyoung knows he’s owned.

San pulls away, eyes flickering from the mark now forming on his chest and Wooyoung’s face, filled with tears, filled with thoughts of him and only him.

“Sannie’s favorite fan.”

Then, he screams, painting both their thighs with clear liquid. It keeps going and going until Wooyoung can feel his insides molding to fit San’s cock and let it name his pussy home. San humps him like a dog in heat, only chasing his own pleasure with guttural grunts of Wooyoung’s name. Wooyoung feels the spinning of his vision when something warm splatters deep inside him.

Everything fades to black.

Wooyoung can feel something shifting behind him.  

He clings onto those last fragmented memories of a dream fading into muted darkness. He was at sea, being lulled to slumber by the sound of waves crashing ashore, the coolness of water drying on his skin a comfort amidst the warm sunlight. It felt nice.

But there’s movement behind him again, breaking the vision of the vast horizon and letting him feel the weight of his eyelids instead. When he opens his eyes, the only thing his mind surmises is that this isn’t right. This isn’t what it feels like after a one night stand. The room doesn’t smell like every illegal substance imaginable. He feels light and floaty and he’s not gross and sticky anymore. Most importantly, there’s a presence behind him wrapping a hand around his—

Wait what?

Choi San. The concert. The club. The NDA. The ache in his lower body. Choi San. “Shit. I gotta—“

Unceremoniously, he flips the blankets off of himself and sits up. He whips his head left and right towards every space in the room to confirm that yes he’s in Choi San’s bed, if the body groggily getting up beside him doesn’t tell him enough.

“It’s three in the morning. Go back to bed.”

San’s bed head is fucking hilarious. Wooyoung would have laughed except he was too busy looking at the sated expression on San’s face. He’s also hyperaware of how contented he feels. He should be embarrassed at how he forced San to clean him up after he passed out on his cock, and he is, but the growing warmth in his chest overpowers it.

And he doesn’t know if he likes that.

When San reaches out to pull him back, he responds the only way he knows how. He jolts, spotting his clothes neatly folded on the bedside table. Ready to run, he steps one foot off the bed. “You aren’t gonna keep me from leaving— fuck!” 

Everything comes crashing down. Quite literally. His legs don’t even work properly, immediately giving up on him the moment he tried to stand up. It must not have been long since he passed out, or it could be hours now and San just fucked him that hard. Regardless, the man comes rushing beside him. “Hey, Hey.” He carries Wooyoung bridal style, helping him settle on the bed. all while trying to hold in a stupid laugh. “You can stay.”

“No. No, I can’t. Could you just…”

San purses his lips into a thin line, brushing off the hair off Wooyoung’s eyes. He lays back down beside him, raising himself on an elbow. “I don’t want you going through all that trouble after I’ve sent your soul through hell and back."

"If you're implying you're the devil then you're damn right.” Wooyoung turns his back to San, tucking himself under the covers as if they’re a pair of lovers in the middle of a quarrel. He ignores the heartbeat he hears in his ears, or the weird lump in his throat, but it gets hard to do so when San presses himself against Wooyoung. The rockstar noses at his hair, humming lowly as he pulls him closer by the hips.

“…Why are you doing this?” He whispers, small, genuine.

“Because I can and I should? Your lays usually that shitty?” The silence from Wooyoung has San sighing behind him. It’s not that he doesn’t know they were all horrible at giving aftercare,

it was just that San gives it to him. Not to mention gives him too much. “And as bizarre as it sounds, I trust you.”

Wooyoung can’t find it in himself to argue, even if all he could say was how San shouldn’t be doing this— or trusting him in the first place.  Though, sleep is slowly catching up to him again. He lets out a yawn, letting San’s warmth seep into his skin, pushing back and pressing their bodies together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Before he knows it, it starts to smell like the sea, the buzzing of the air conditioner sounds like the ships far on the water, the warmth… the warmth of the sun wrapping its arms around him and he could bask in it forever.

Wooyoung’s conscious enough to feel the hand traveling lower, resting just on his abdomen, thumb rubbing small circles over it. Goosebumps rise on Wooyoung’s skin, turning into a full-blown shudder when San starts lightly sucking on his nape.

“Oh and… I might want something sweet for breakfast.”

“Ugh, you asshole.”

If he’s smiling at the prospect of being San’s tomorrow, then nobody has to know.

If anyone pointed out that Wooyoung was more bitchy recently, he’d bark out an insult in no time, telling them they were overreacting.

But it was quite the opposite, actually.

To say he’s pissed is a very large understatement.

He has a mental list of things that have been pulling him down under, rolling him into a ball, and throwing him headfirst into a pit of fiery rage.

First on the list is his stupid job. Sure, it pays well, he has everything he wants at the click of a camera. The thing is, he hasn’t been clicking the damn camera or writing anything. He promised that something would come out of the concert to his employer, and he wasn’t lying, he did actually believe he’d have a big story by the time he was finished with Choi San.

Of course, that really didn’t go as planned. So now they’re on his ass about some sanction and he finds that he couldn’t care less. Maybe because it’s been long overdue, and a certain someone has given him plenty of food for thought about the industry he’s in— how they could throw him away in the blink of an eye.

Then next, there’s his sweet, lovely, absolutely horrible best friend Yeosang. Who had practically pushed him into sitting down on the kitchen table the moment he stepped foot onto their apartment. Where did you go? Who were you with? Why are you limping? Like he doesn’t fucking know. On top of making Wooyoung admit how good of a lay a certain rockstar is, Yeosang also made him recount the entire fucking experience.

Even when the days had gone by, Yeosang still wouldn’t let him live it down. Apart from being annoying as shit, he spent most of his days on the phone with Mingi or Seonghwa— sometimes one of the two would pick him up. Wooyoung is nosy enough to peek when given the chance, but not nosy enough to stop his moping at being ignored.

Which brings him to the final reason, the single thing that started this entire situation in the first place. Like a culmination of all his damn problems right now, he feels thrown to the side and disposable.

The day after, he woke up at nearly noon. He had a good dream because he was honestly looking forward to San’s promise of a repeat performance in the morning— and while the sun was already high in the sky, he took those words to heart (and by extension, his pussy.) So imagine his disappointment when San was evidently not there.

Forced to steal one of San’s hoodies and face Yeosang’s endless interrogation once he got home, he endured it because well- he doesn’t know why but he hoped. He hoped his phone would ring or he’d bump into a specific someone not-so-coincidentally down the street.

Weeks have passed, nearing a damn month, and he hasn’t heard from San at all.

He doesn’t know why he’s so pissed, all he knows is that he has every right to be. Though, Yeosang doesn’t share the same sentiment because instead of dragging him to a shitty club to forget about it all, he’s being pulled into the root of all his damn problems. That’s how he ended up in a gala, a fundraiser of some sort held by a bunch of A-listers he can’t remember the names of.

But that doesn’t matter when he’s busy seething over Yeosang and Seonghwa leaving him in the middle of the room to talk to god knows who, and to think that they said the night was for him and his ‘sulky’ attitude. Rather than walking around like a lost idiot, he opted to hang around the bar instead.

He scans the room and sees Yeosang tugging at Mingi’s arm while Seonghwa talks to him. It’s a sight that makes him want to hurl, but he doesn’t think much of it, or the implications of Mingi being here in the first place until—

A head in the crowd stands taller than the rest. The moment Wooyoung’s eyes land on the gloved hands and well-ironed suit, his heart drops to his stomach. He should feel bad that the man’s just doing his job and Wooyoung’s starting to hate his face, but how can he not when seeing Yunho basically equates to his demise? Because if Mingi’s there, then his partner in crime Yunho is there, and if Yunho is there then who else would they be security for if not…

“Hi.”

Speak of the fucking devil.

San stands there, in all his glory. Stripped of his heavy eyeliner and large rings, instead replaced with a suit that’s black all over. Wooyoung resists raking his eyes all over the man’s form to take a sip of his drink and look pointedly at San. “Do I know you?”

“Want another drink?” San releases a breath that makes Wooyoung think he used all of his energy for those three words. The man shifts on his leg, awkwardly leaning an elbow on the bar as he makes a half-hearted attempt of keeping his eyes off of the exposed skin of Wooyoung’s legs and chest. He’s fiddling with the lone ring on his hand, biting his lip and it’s such a contrast to the San that he met— but it’s so damn cute.

Wooyoung buries the anticipation bubbling in his stomach to put an unimpressed look on his face. “Do I know you or do I have to ask the poor bartender to make you fuck off?”

Said bartender flinches and grabs an already clean glass to endlessly wipe on. “Wooyoung…” San practically purrs in that sweet, deep voice in his, stepping closer to Wooyoung but never daring to touch him. He breathes in the scent of cedar and sea salt, mentally cursing himself for feeling his entire body heat up at their proximity. He turns his body away from San to swirl his wine glass and sigh.

“Oh so now it’s Wooyoung.”

“Baby—“

“Ew, don’t call me that.” His lips twitch upward when he sees San’s jaw clench from the corner of his eye. He’s mad, of course, if San could find out his identity the moment he entered that party then he should be able to at least get a fancy investigator to get Wooyoung’s number, right? But San looks and sounds so polite right now, but Wooyoung wouldn’t be Wooyoung if he didn’t try to push the rockstar’s every hypothetical button imaginable.

“What am I supp—“ The volume of his voice rises ever so slightly, but he takes it back, shutting his eyes and taking in a shaky breath. Wooyoung does smirk this time, seeing the sharpness in his eyes that scream hunger,  watching his fist clenched on his dress pants, and knowing what those hands can do, what they’re capable of turning Wooyoung into. The same hand reaches out to wrap around his wrist, hard, unmoving– leaving no room for refusal. “Youngie, can we talk?”

Wooyoung gulps, swallowing down all his anger with it. Fuck this.

The door shuts behind them. Before Wooyoung can complain about the cramped space, or the silence that fills the room, San’s already glaring at him.

He leans on the wall, slightly grimacing at the dust probably sticking to his velvet suit. Crossing his arms, he tilts his head at San. “5 minutes. Make it last.”

“You know I last longer than that.” San scoffs, a grin overtaking his features. Wooyoung resists the urge to laugh, finally seeing the face that once annoyed him but now he can say he missed so dearly. This time, he looks at Wooyoung up and down without shame, eyes staying too long on the slit stopping right below his hip. There’s the San he knows. He licks his lips and his eyes flicker to Wooyoung’s lips. “Can’t say the same for you.”

His face must show the opposite of everything he feels because that one moment when he lets his rockstar persona take over is quickly replaced by the Choi San now stuttering and scrambling to find the words for an apology. “That’s not— Okay. Sorry.”

Wooyoung takes a glance at his watch which stopped working a long time ago. “Time’s ticking.”

San starts talking with his hands, nearly flailing everywhere just because he believes Wooyoung’s gonna leave once the time is done. And he’s right, but Wooyoung’s enjoying the panic in San’s voice way too much. “Look- Some dude picked a fight with my bassist so I had to leave the moment I got a call. I came back too late and you weren’t there. Then things just got busy and—“

San pauses, searching Wooyoung’s face and frowning. “That’s not what you want to hear, is it?”

He has never seen and heard San so unsure. In and out of the stage, San always gave off this certain air of confidence, pretentiousness even, especially when he had Wooyoung folded over the mattress. This look doesn’t suit him, voice quiet and eyes brimming with guilt over something Wooyoung has blown out of proportion.

San shouldn’t be looking like that, especially over someone like Wooyoung. The shame of being so irrationally mad is getting to him. He takes one glance at San and sighs, face and voice softening.

“San, you don’t need to explain yourself I-I get it. We both had fun. We both felt good. You aren’t obligated to look for me. I don’t even know why I’m mad. I understand that’s how one-night stands are supposed to go— I just…”

It’s his turn to ramble, looking downwards to hide the quivering of his lip. He’s been acting like a kid over something that isn’t even San’s fault, he’s waiting for the bomb to drop. for San to agree with everything he just said. There’s a lump in his throat that pushes unshed tears out of his eyes. “..believed I was different.”

“You are.” San breathes out as Wooyoung looks up. The tears spill over his cheeks at those two words, and San crowds him into the wall in an instant, taking his face with both of his hands and wiping his tears. “Shit. Don’t cry.”

“I’m serious. I’m sorry for making you feel like that. You are different.” If Wooyoung counts how many times San has made him cry, he’d end up with two fingers raised. The first, well the situation was shameful enough in itself, but this time, he’s furiously trying to command his eyes to stop the waterworks because why the fuck would he be crying over San?  “You weren’t just a one-night stand to me. God, I didn’t just feel good— I felt good just being with you. I missed you so much.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him when Wooyoung still doesn’t look convinced. “You think I chase down my fans like this?”

“Not your—“

“Mmm. Shush, dollface. Is that the only thing you got out of that?”

No, of course not. There are a million things running through Wooyoung’s mind right now. Because he knows why he’s crying over San, his body missed him dearly, but what makes his chest ache trumps everything else. His heart squeezes at every word that comes from San. It lurches into his throat when the man’s gaze falls on his lips, a look that Wooyoung has grown acquainted with that night they spent together. A look that comes with purpose.

His assumptions come true when San’s hands travel lower, holding his small waist in a firm grip. Then, San’s knees thud on the hard floor.

“I think it’s my turn to prove something to you.”

Wooyoung’s jaw falls agape, staring at San in disbelief. Even when he’s the one being looked up at, the heat in the room nearly suffocating him only means that he’s about to get fucking eaten alive. The words ring in his mind and it takes a full minute for him to figure out just what San means. “Did so good with your mouth. How about I show you my appreciation?”

He knew the slits on his pants would draw attention, but he didn’t expect that he’d actually put them to use. San’s hands slide up his legs, stopping at his thighs and forcing them apart. Treated like prey in the grasp of a predator, he’s sure he’ll actually get eaten. Quite literally. “They’re gonna look for me…”

“I better get to it then.” Ignoring Wooyoung’s weak attempt at pushing him away, San pulls down the waistband of his pants, along with his underwear. He sucks in a breath at the sight of Wooyoung’s cunt, already glistening with slick.

Like Wooyoung isn’t turning red to the tips of his ears, like they aren’t in a dusty storage room while there’s an event going on outside, San spreads open his folds and groans. “Pretty. Fuck, you’re the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen. God, I could worship you. Make your pussy my shrine.”

A shiver runs down his spine when San’s hot breath fans over his pussy. “Do you ever shut up?” He helps himself, slightly pulling away to remove his pants entirely. But before he can step his other foot out of the cloth, San pulls at his hips impatiently once again, until his lips are attached to the crease of Wooyoung’s thigh.

“You’re mad you’re getting wet with just a few words.” San rests his cheek on Wooyoung’s thigh, akin to a cat rubbing against its owner. He ignores how cute it looks in favor of carding his fingers through San’s hair and tugging harshly. The man aims to prove his words, responding with a light flick to Wooyoung’s clit and making him hold back a moan.

“I swear to god San—“

“Why are you swearing to yourself?”

“San!” 

“Fine. We don’t want you throwing a tantrum again.” San chuckles condescendingly. Wooyoung’s desperation must be so amusing to him, but alas, he gives Wooyoung what he wants and shifts on his knees. Hiking one leg over his shoulder, San gives him one final smirk before pressing his mouth to Wooyoung’s dripping cunt. Only when San’s tongue circles his clit does he remember the barbel pierced through the wet appendage. He flicks on the sensitive flesh and Wooyoung’s head spins. He’s been curious about what it would feel like once upon a time, but now that San’s tongue expertly licks and sucks at his folds up to his throbbing clit, he didn’t realize how fast it would make him keen.

“Oh, baby. Please, right there. So good, Sannie.” San hums into his pussy as wet sounds fill the room, the vibrations only make Wooyoung buck his hips into San’s hot mouth even more. He throws his head back and moans as the man’s tongue dips lower to his entrance. San eats him out like its his last supper— body moving along with his mouth, eagerly pressing marks onto Wooyoung’s hips with how hard he’s pulling the other by the hips.

“Let me use your mouth, yeah?” His thigh clenches around San’s head, forcing the man to bury his tongue deeper into Wooyoung’s pussy. His heels are practically digging into San’s back at this point, but that doesn’t deter the man from wriggling his tongue against Wooyoung’s walls. The cold metal grazes deliciously over his g-spot, groans mixing with every breathy whine he lets out. When Wooyoung pulls at his hair with the intention to hurt, something high pitched escapes San’s throat. He could almost laugh at him, maybe he’ll make fun of it later– how he called Wooyoung a slut but here he is, eyebrows furrowing and vision glazed, stuck on Wooyoung as he looks up at him almost reverently.

“Ah ah, fuck! Yes, yes, Sannie!”’ But he’s too busy chasing his high, grinding his pussy on San’s tongue and making the man’s apology worthwhile. Every time San thrusts his tongue against that one spot that makes him see stars, he gets closer to the edge. It’s a slow climb, rudely rushed by the thumb now circling his clit. Wooyoung cries out, breath becoming labored and almost hurling towards his orgasms. Except San pulls away and the images of having to beg for it flash in his mind. The thought makes him want to cry again but San is always full of surprises.

“Cum in my mouth.” Fondness drips from San’s whisper, and he adds for good measure– “Please.”

Pleas would never count as commands, but it does him in all the same. He slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle the near yell that comes out of him. San shuts his eyes and shudders once he tastes even more of Wooyoung’s release on his tongue. His hips are moving on their own, riding out his orgasm with the rockstar’s face still buried in between his thighs. It takes a while for him to come to his senses again, but once he does so, San is still on the floor, looking at him with a dopey smile. Right, he must be waiting for something in return.

“How about yo— oh.” San looks down shyly at the same time Wooyoung spots the dark spot on San’s dress pants. He came from that. He came from just that. Among every complicated thing that has happened to them, he doesn’t know why that’s what gives him an ego boost, or why it’s San’s flustered expression that makes his heart want to pop out of its confines.

“My dick likes you.” San slowly stands up, stumbling a little. He uses a hand to wrap around Wooyoung’s waist to hold himself up (or maybe it’s just an excuse to hold him.) Wooyoung wants to be mortified at San’s wording but finds himself laughing instead. If anyone told him a month ago he’d be genuinely laughing in the presence of a big name like Choi San he’d call them crazy and probably ruin their life. He’s just as surprised as San, who evidently hugs him tighter when he hears the light and airy sound fall from his lips. San smiles, the other hand taking Wooyoung’s own to place a chaste kiss on his knuckle. “It’s endeared by how infuriating you are.”

“I like your dick too. The one attached to it? A little unclear.” Wooyoung retorts, letting a comforting warmth envelop his body at the sensation of lips on his hand. San dramatically puts his hand over his chest, feigning hurt with a pained grunt. Wooyoung laughs at that too, and San only watches him. He’s taking in his appearance and Wooyoung suddenly wants to hide. His hair is probably a mess, his makeup smudged, his body hanging off of San’s form in its weakened state. Sure, San has seen him in worse situations but he’s still looking at him like that. And that’s Wooyoung’s problem. No matter how he looks or how he acts, San looks at him like he’s…

“Wanna test that theory out?” San interlocks their fingers, gesturing to the door that apparently neither of them fucking locked in the first place. Memories of San’s unit resurface, but now they’re visions of what it would be like filled with sunlight, with Wooyoung staying until another night has passed. The images are replaced with the blaring letters of a four-letter word. Something he deemed impossible for people in this industry, something that maybe, maybe he’s willing to surrender everything for. “By.. I dunno, getting out of here?”

“Only if you fuck me over Kim Hongjoong’s drumset.”

Wooyoung has already given up his body, knowing it won’t be satisfied unless it’s in the arms of a certain cocky rockstar. Somewhere along the road, maybe he’s willing to give up his heart too.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

yeo sent an article:

Choi San of WDIG spotted leaving fundraiser with…

@woonyang YOU BITCH

i’m so sorry! i will take care of him i promise.

[image attached]

hwa:

Oh! Something’s banging and it’s definitely not the drums alright.