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The light is too bright.
Wooyoung wakes with a groan, one hell of headache unraveling behind his eyes. Every part of him aches. Pain lanced through him like a dull thudding alarm.
It's always a stupid idea to go out with Jongho. Always. His younger friend has entirely too strong of a tolerance and Wooyoung ends up shitfaced and regretting every life choice he’s ever made every time. His plan had been to only get lightly fucked up. Ride that buzzy wave back to his dorm and crash. But, he remembers with a wince, they ended up at a frat house, drinking neon pink liquid that Wooyoung can only assume was battery acid given the pounding headache and soft sheets of a bed that is not his own.
He tests opening his eyes, braving the pounding headache to get a glimpse of his surroundings. It’s not a room he recognizes. Plants tucked into every corner, a surprisingly nice duvet pooled around his hips. He fidgets with the silky fabric as he breathes through the nausea, shoving the urge to ruin the pretty creme bed-sheets down with iron will.
So, clearly not his room. Who’s though.. That he’s not sure of.
He’s tangled in a strangers sheets at… he glances at the clock, the blinking red numbers staring back at him, judging. 1 pm. Amazing. He’s missed his lecture already. Which was the whole reason he was trying to be responsible last night in the first place.
“Fuck my life,” he sighs. He’d glare at the ceiling if it didn't hurt to move his face.
There's a voice in his head that whines for him to stay here, pull the blanket over his head and ignore responsibilities. (and logic, he’s in someone else's bed and they're bound to come home and lose their shit at some point.) But the idea of getting yelled at to leave when his head is split in half with the weight of his own stupidity is worse than the nausea. Sleep clings leaden and sticky to his muscles and weighs down every move like the added heft of wet clothes, but he manages to sit up.
His vision goes blurry at the edges with the change in position.
“Ugh,” he mutters, succinctly.
Rubbing the crust from his eyes with far more pressure than is smart. Hopefully he can rub the headache from it too. Push away the gnawing sense that something big happened last night, something he hasn’t remembered yet. It’s maddening, the way something is looming behind the sleepy fog that clouds his memory, waiting for him to put the pieces together.
His attention finally settles in on his own body and.. Okay. Stranger's room is making more sense now. A few of those pieces are clicking.
Shades of purple and red paint his torso. Mouth shaped imprints and teeth notched bruises scattered over him in a constellation. He traces the edge of one left on his hip and gasps as a twinge of familiar sensitivity echoes through his body. The remembered twinge of pleasure ignites the fog, clearing it fast enough for memories to race through him at breakneck speed. Pieces clicking together.
-
There are fingers in his hair, around his throat. Trails of gasoline left over his skin by their fingers and ignited into flame by the heat of their tongue as they map his body. He’s panting, the sound hidden under the muffled beat leaking in beneath the bathroom door. It’s running through his bones now. Tempo keeping time with zings of pleasure as the person in front of him drops to their knees. Bites at his hip.
“Fuck-” he groans, pushing their messy hair from their face and taking in the slightly mussed makeup beneath soft pink LED’s. “We don't have much time-” he starts.
“Are you done in there?” someone is yelling. A booming voice echoing through the room.
And they're laughing. Wooyoung hunched to bend over their body, holding their face tucked away into his stomach as they both giggle uncontrollably. The solid door behind Wooyoung's back shakes meaningfully and the person is standing again. Glancing up at him despite how their heeled shoes make them a few inches taller than Wooyoung.
“I know somewhere more private if you want to…” they trail off meaningfully.
“Yes,” Wooyoung remembers agreeing. Far too fast. Catching their mouth again and biting at their lower lip hungrily. Kissing the pretty stranger like they were both underwater, like every brush of lips was a stolen breath, a gasp of fresh air.
-
“Oh god,”
His head tips back into something soft and solid in the privacy of a room.
A long walk. Filthy words whispered into their ear and his hand creeping under their waist band as they went. Tracing the curve above their ass, running his fingers in maddening circles over their sweat damp skin. They were so sensitive. Mischief and arousal fighting in Wooyoung as he teased them the whole way there.
And then their room. A kiss against the door, his belt between their fingers, the rasp in their voice as they moaned against his mouth.
Dark eyes glancing up from his hip, glassy and drenched in want. A pretty spit slicked mouth separating from his skin, strands of spit still connecting them. Them blowing on the rapidly cooling spot- such a stark contrast to how the rest of him felt like it was on fire- and Wooyoung arched into the feeling, gripped the person by their soft hair and pressed their face into his raised hips.
“You want to use that pretty mouth for something else?” he slurred. And he remembers the subtle give of their cheek pressed against his hip bone, breath hot on his dick as they nodded.
-
Movement. A pillow thrown beneath them, their eyes locked on his face as they went to their knees between his thighs.
Their tongue hot and sweet against him. Flicking lazily, almost like they wanted to savor him, savor the taste and the feel of his dick stretching their mouth obscenely.
They were gentle in the way they took him into their mouth at first. But that faded quickly and they fluttered their lashes, sinking down with a happy hum. In the breath between one second and the next Wooyoung was buried in the back of their throat.
“What the fuck” he questioned, slightly hysterical. Gripping their hair and the bed beside him, hard.
He remembers the puff of air (almost a laugh) against his pubic bone. Their curious eyes. Bobbing their head and humming happily when Wooyoung rolled his hips into their face.
“Ah ah- sorry,” he choked, “sorry.”
They furrowed their brow, some unreadable disappointment in their gaze when he pulled his hips back. And that slick pink mouth slid over his dick again. Their tongue flat and teasing against him. Almost like they were baiting him into something.
It worked. Wooyoung’s moan escaped him like something feral. He pushed their head back down and roughly rolled his hips as he did, chasing the heat of their throat instinctively.
A shivering whine vibrated around him and a glance down revealed the pretty stranger to be further gone than before, eyes closed, eyebrows pinched and desperate.
Did they want him to?…
They opened their eyes (barely) shooting him a pleading glance. Shifted impatiently on his dick like a puppy waiting for a treat.
Ah.
“Okay baby,” he rolled his hips gently to subdue them, endeared and painfully turned on by the way they melted into his control. “I get it, I'll give you what you want,”
He traced the bulge of himself where it distended their flushed cheek, smiling gently when they leaned into the touch. It was such a beautiful contrast. Their simple pleasure in being caught, tethered in place and pet gently. Put against the filthy way his cock kept their mouth open, the drool that started to slip past their lips, making a beautiful mess of them.
It lit up their skin, dirty and stunning in the moonlit glow coming from the window.
Perfection.
He truly couldn't describe them any other way. Their toned arms wrapped in soft white fabric still. They were fully dressed but even that curled into liquid want in his stomach. Their disheveled clothes showed bits of glowing skin, soft as sin, skin he wanted to bite. Bury his teeth in them and lick the sweat from their body like it was all he needed to survive.
“Pretty,” He had murmured instead, the cheek under his thumb getting endearingly warmer at the compliment. They blinked, heavy and slow, and it hit him like a punch to the chest. Wooyoung wanted to give them everything they wanted. Everything he could.
He extended his fingers to span the back of their head. Tethered himself firmer in their silky hair.
“I’ve got you baby,” he murmured and then fucked his hips up as hard as he could.
-
Wooyoung now maps the marks left on his hips. Scratches where the pretty stranger held onto him for dear life. He flexes his tight thighs and traces the aching muscles to the way he arched off the bed and made room for himself in their perfect, pliant throat.
Wooyoung glances around the room for clues to where its owner has gone and is disappointed when he finds none. This has to be their room. He vaguely remembers stumbling through the door now, giggling when he almost tripped over the pot housing a sprawling plant tucked beside the entrance.
It's a shame, he’d like to get their number (or at least be told their name, its lost in the fog of neon pink battery acid and the swirl of their baby pink tongue against him) But they've fled the scene and though the chances of him getting yelled at for being in their room uninvited are lower now it still sounds painfully awkward to be here when they presumably left to give him a chance to leave. Quietly.
It takes much longer with every part of him aching and the sun bright and cheery through the window but he manages to get his clothes untangled from the floor and back on his body, shoving a finger into his eye the whole time to try and keep the knife sharp pain at bay.
Fully dressed, Wooyoung glances around the room, lingering. Unwilling to leave. The wall across from him is where he pressed them, kissed the sticky alcohol from their lips and drank in their sighs until his skin was buzzing. Drunk on them as much as the vodka. There's a pillow still on the floor from where he had dropped it under their knees. A smear of makeup on the sheets where Wooyoung knows the pretty stranger hid their face, heated breath the only thing between Wooyoung's lips and the soft skin between their thighs. Once Wooyoung had gotten feeling back in his fingers he’d found out exactly what the skin beneath those flowy clothes felt like against his fingertips, his tongue. They tasted just as good as they looked.
He stops with his hand on the doorknob. Hesitates. Sighs. He’s always been bad at denying himself things. A note couldn't hurt, right? They can always throw it in the trash and never think about him again if they want to. At least they’ll have the option to hear from him again, on the chance they want to.
He finds paper easy enough and scribbles his name and number, pausing for a brief second before he writes out ‘I'd love to make up for the ripped shirt’ and sets it on their bedside, tucked under a pot. He could do better with more time to think but it’ll work for now. He really does feel bad about ripping that flowy shirt off their body. Doesn’t regret it. But hey, he can still feel bad.
Scooping his shoes, he jogs toward the door. He hopes they find the note. That they want to see him again. He’s had his fair share of one night stands that were just that, one night. But he can’t help but want to see this one again. See their pretty brown eyes in the daytime, feel the shape of their name in his mouth, hell maybe the shape of their mouth against his again-
The metal twists under his palm before he can open it.
The face from his memory is suddenly much closer than expected.
They have a birthmark. Is his first thought.
I think I might be in love. Follows closely after.
“Oh.” they inhale sharply, eyes widening as they take in Wooyoung.
The same eyes that lined with tears when Wooyoung pressed his fingers into the tight heat of their body and- Focus.
“I thought you would have…” they trail off. Their smooth, deep voice choked with awkwardness. Wooyoung blushes, he was expected to leave while they were out. This is just as painful as he guessed it would be.
“Yeah I.. sorry I was just leaving.. I can?” He gestures towards the door behind them with a raised eyebrow. It’d make sense if they wanted to kick him out. Get on with their morning and let the alcohol fueled memories of last night fade away. He offers it halfheartedly, but still offers.
It’s pitiful how much he hopes they don't take him up on it.
They continue to stand stock still, eyes locked on his face. He’s never been patient and it’s worse when he wants so badly to stay. Wants them to deny his offer to leave and tackle him back into the bed they shared last night. Help him jog more memories.
He shifts beneath their gaze.
The moment drags uncomfortably long.
And then they shake off whatever thought they were trapped in, decided, and step through the door. Closing it behind them.
They lift their hand to show off a white paper bag like it’s a peace offering.
“I have food,” they still sound hesitant. “if you want to..”
“Yes.” Wooyoung hurries to say. Again. Nearly cuts them off with how fast he pushes the word out. Jesus what's wrong with him. He needs to get his shit together.
They nod and blink until Wooyoung realizes now he's the one blocking their way, too focused on staring at the messy bun their hair is pulled into, claw clip holding it in a way Wooyoung vividly remembers doing himself some hours ago.
“Oh! Sorry!” he rushes to say, stumbling to the side as he lets them by.
Fate isn’t on his side and he overbalances. There’s a few seconds of socks sliding on linoleum tiling, dramatically swinging arms, before he locks his core viciously and forces himself to a stop. He stares at the spinning ground and then glances up. They make eye contact. Their arms are half out like they were going to catch him.
His arms are still out to his sides like a stumbling baby deer.
How does he keep humiliating himself in front of the most gorgeous person in the world?
His arms snap back to his sides, lighting fast. Clearing his throat he moves an extra step to the side, gesturing them forward with a casual wave. His neck is burning. He hopes they're too polite to mention it.
They breathe a quiet laugh and step by him, toeing off their boots on the rack and carrying the pastry bag to a small table tucked into the corner. Blissfully ignoring his misstep.
Wooyoung sighs. Slowly wandering after them, resting gingerly on the bed for lack of a better place to sit as they unwrap the pastries with practiced precision. He can see the receipt stapled to the bag and glimpses ‘Yeosang’ in perfect type script.
Yeosang. Hmm. It fits them, he thinks. Pulling the memory of them whispering it in his ear on a mysteriously stained couch last night. Loud music made them repeat it a few times before Wooyoung had rested a ringed hand on their arm and leant across to press his face to theirs. Feel it so much as hear it when they stuttered their name.
“Its not much but they're good,” Yeosang warns, unwrapping the scarf tied around their neck and draping it over a chair. “Theres a shop just down the road,”
Wooyoung tries, he really does, to listen to what they're saying but with the scarf gone he has an unrestricted view of their neck and the pretty bruises painted there. The bruises that Wooyoung painted there.
“-so.. Hope you like it,” Yeosang mutters, setting a plate of half cut pastries next to him. Wooyoung blinks and looks up from the shapes left by his mouth.
Wooyoung earnestly nods his thanks, grabbing the plate from them. “I’m sure they're great, thank you,”
Yeosang seems pleased (Wooyoung's said one thing right at least) and settles next to him on the bed, taking a tentative bite, powdered sugar clinging to the curved corners of their mouth.
Silence settles and so does light panic. Wooyoung searches his mind for something to ask them, some way to hear their velvety voice again.
“So.. what are you studying?” Smooth. Nice, man. The voice in his head sounds annoyingly like Mingi and he mentally punches the man as hard as he can in the arm.
“Bio-med,” Yeosang replies, a hint of excitement in their voice. “Third year now,”
“Oh same!” he pauses “Not- not Bio-med but i’m in my third year too,”
Yeosang nods absently, “What are you studying then?” They rub at a spot of sugar on their cheek, brushing more across their skin trying to clean it off.
“Education! I’m thinking for elementary and middle level…” Wooyoung trails off and then hums, finally giving in. “You've got-” he mimics wiping his own face. Laughing when they completely miss it again.
“Here,” He leans over and wipes the sugar away with his thumb, tucking it into his mouth with a hum.
The moment goes syrupy slow for a beat. Yeosang’s eyes glued on his mouth, ears faintly pink. Interesting. This he knows how to do at least. He lets his thumb linger, showing a flash of his tongue against it as he drags the sugar free digit from his mouth.
“There, all better,” He hums, his voice huskier than usual.
They swallow heavily and glance from his glistening thumb to his eyes.
“Thanks,” Their voice sounds strangled. He tries not to feel too proud about that.
“So.. education?” They question, “ How’d you get into that?”
Wooyoung settles back in. Hums happily, talking around bites of food. Conversation flows a little easier after that, the tension between them settling closer to heated than awkward.
Wooyoung regularly finds himself zoning out while Yeosang talks, echoes of that same voice wrecked with pleasure ringing in his ears with vivid clarity. He feels his ego go up a few sizes when he can tell that Yeosang is doing the same. Staring a little too hard at Wooyoung's hands while he talks, tongue prodding at their cheek when Wooyoung stretches and his shirt rides up enough to expose the bruises on his stomach.
Wooyoung catches their gaze when they keep staring at his now covered stomach, “You left quite a mark,” he jokes.
It’s the first time either of them have brought up last night and he spares a passing thought that maybe that was a mistake. That he should worry they're going to back away from it now that there's no liquid courage in either of their systems.
Yeosang doesn't look away. “Sorry,” they hum, with no hint of apology in their tone.
“It’s okay,” he breathes, “I wasn't that gentle either,”
Yeosang shivers. Tipping their head to bare their marked up throat to Wooyoung's warm fingers when he reaches to trace the edge of a mouth shaped bruise.
“Not gentle at all,” they whisper, leading.
Wooyoung grins. There’s that breathy voice.
“You didn't seem to mind me being a little rough.” He murmurs against the skin of their throat, dropping an unhurried kiss at the nearest hickey. “Did you?”
They shudder under his lips, minutely shaking their head. The pieces of their hair falling out of the claw-clip brush against his cheek.
“Do you mind now?” he questions, tucking that hair behind their ear, glancing up under his lashes. He waits. Waits. And finally-
“No,” It’s quiet. Their want, their need, something painfully intimate in the space between them. “I don't mind,”
It’s all Wooyoung needs.
He all but pounces on them, kisses down their throat. The skin under him vibrates when Yeosang moans and his teeth pinch their skin in needy flashes. He stops, drags his tongue over one of the marks he left and Yeosang inhales shakily, arms twitching like they want to pull Wooyoung closer but don’t know if they’re allowed.
They are. He wants to yell that they can touch him. That he wants them to touch him more than he’s wanted anything. Ever, maybe.
But he doesn’t want to separate long enough to say it so he just nods nonsensically, hoping that’s enough for them to understand.
“Why do you taste so fucking good,” he questions without thinking, voice muffled, almost unintelligible against their throat. Yeosang huffs. He can practically hear them rolling their eyes.
“I don’t taste like anything, you're just horny.”
“No, you do.” Wooyoung nips at their throat sharply in reprimand, Yeosang gasping above him, “could stay here for hours.”
Yeosang finally lifts a hand to touch Wooyoung (and he wants to sing) intertwining their fingers through his hair. They don’t respond but the way they tip their head fully to the side and the gentle pressure they put to keep his head locked close speaks for them.
He wants to kiss them stupid. Re-familiarize his teeth with their neck until the fading bruises are vibrant again. Until they’re panting and gripping his hair viciously tight. Until the only word they know is please and more- But the angle isn't quite what Wooyoung wants. Letting out an annoyed huff he shoves gently and Yeosang falls back, letting Wooyoung settle on top of them.
They feel solid, beautiful between his thighs as he straddles their lap. One hand stays in his hair but the other falls beside their head, fingers curling with anticipation. He taps at their jaw and they tip their head back easily, allowing him easy access to every inch of them.
He wasn’t lying when he said he could stay tucked under their chin forever but a flash of remembered golden skin plays behind his eyes and lights his fingers up with frenetic energy. It's barely a thought before he’s tugging their shirt up and around their neck, trapping it under their armpits.
“Don’t tear this one too,” they joke, laughing breathlessly.
And Wooyoung smiles, soft and secret. But he can’t find it in him to reply. Everything about them is so beautifully balanced. Defined but soft. Strength lining every part of them but skin rippling perfectly when he grips at the light roll above their waistband. An addicting curve that Wooyoung wants to hold between his teeth.
They're staring at him. He can tell. But drawn like magnets, his hands find Yeosang's chest instead. Thumbs fitting to their nipples he starts drawing lazy circles across them. The sweet hitched noise Yeosang makes feels like a reward of some kind.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Wooyoung mumbles, unable to stop himself. “Just as perfect as I remember,”
Yeosang tips their head back in a moan. A moan that gets louder when Wooyoung pinches their nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. They’re hard under his fingertips, and Yeosang arches, pushing their chest closer to Wooyoung in a silent plea for more. His eyes are locked onto the growing pleasure on Yeosang's face with single minded focus.
Memories overlap with this moment. Crackling sighs, breathy exhales. The curve of Yeosang’s spine as they arched into Wooyoung's palms.
Moonlight and sunlight overlap, but Yeosang is the same beneath him in both. Perfect.
He doesn't resurface from the softness of their offered body until Yeosang's hand is in his hair. Tugging him back into a kiss as they bite a desperate sound into his mouth. Their nails are sharp against his scalp. It’s natural as anything to slot his thigh between theirs. To feel heat through the cloth separating them. To push against them till they cry out, loud and needy.
“Feel good?” Wooyoung pants. Shoving the soreness in his leg aside brusquely as he rolls his thigh into where Yeosang is aching. He smears spit between them as he speaks. “Do you want more?”
“Yes,” Their voice is barely understandable, high and breathy. More a gasp than anything. Wooyoung smiles down at them. At how wrecked they look beneath him.
He could make a home in their desperate gasps, curl up and roll in the hitched whimpers they let out when he grips their hips and yanks them harder onto his thigh like a pleased cat.
“Close,” Yeosang whines. And they are. He can tell. They're rolling onto him desperately, rhythm smooth and unbroken. Beautifully needy.
Wooyoung grunts against their skin, moving in tandem with them, pushing his thigh into them in a filthy grind.
“I remember.. remember how beautiful you look coming apart under me,” he barely has enough air to stay conscious let alone speak but he pushes through.
“Couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you again. Of not getting this-” he rolls his hips at the same time as he grips their waist, making them let out a choked sob “-again.”
They're looking at him with lidded eyes, hazy, desperate, close.
Fuck. He’s going to come too.
“Felt drunker on this than any of the shit we drank at that party,” Wooyoung slurs, keeping the pace fast and unrelenting. His own desperation is hot and bright, coiled under his skin and buzzing.
“Me too,” they gasp, struggling to speak through their ragged breathing. “Me too. Thought it was just the alcohol but this is- ah Wooyoung please- please don’t stop,”
“I won’t.” Wooyoung promises, delirious with heat and want. The idea is ridiculous. Who could stop with Yeosang under them like this? Who could do anything but dedicate themselves, body and soul, to making them fall apart, utterly and completely. Over and over.
“Come for me,” He orders. Begs. "C'mon baby, I wanna see it again,”
Maybe it's his words. Or the direct roll of his thigh. Maybe it's the way Wooyoung latches onto their proffered throat and bites as he comes- or maybe Yeosang just can’t resist the urge to follow Wooyoung's directions. Because one second they're riding Wooyoung's thigh with pure desperate need and the next it's choked between their own, heat seeping into his jean covered leg where it’s trapped between their twitching thighs.
Melodic whimpers fill the room, echoing through Wooyoung's head and he frantically commits every roll of their hips to memory. Stores away the way they collapse, boneless and spent, into the safest corner of his brain. He refuses to let this be blurry. Be obstructed by anything. Their first time together may be hazy with alcohol but this will be clear, crystalline.
They breath at the ceiling for a long time before Yeosang’s raspy voice breaks the silence.
“Fuck.” They huff.
Wooyoung laughs, unable to stop his giggles at their exhausted deadpan voice.
“Yeah, fuck indeed,” He winks at them and flops back with a laugh when they raise an uncoordinated hand to slap at him.
Sweat rolls down their neck, drips onto their shirt where it's rucked beneath their armpits still. It's pooling in their collarbones like water following the easiest path and Wooyoung fights the deranged urge to lick it.
“So…” He mutters.
Yeosang makes a questioning noise and unsticks themselves from his thigh, flinching at the sizable wet spot they left against his jeans. They send him an apologetic look that he waves off quickly.
“You free tonight?”
Yeosang stares at the shit eating grin spreading across his face.
“I have a feeling,” They sigh. “No matter what I was doing tonight, I will now be getting dinner with you,”
“Yes!” Wooyoung yells, laying his entire body weight on top of them and ignoring the oof they let out as he compresses all the air out of their body.
“Can’t wait,” they mutter but Wooyoung can hear the underlying truth in their words. And they brush a hand through his hair softly.
He can’t wait either. He has a feeling it'll be the first of many.