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should have known better

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The first incident happens on a Thursday evening, after a long day of photoshoots for their new album.

Wooyoung is tired enough that he could probably fall asleep with his clothes on, still not having washed off the makeup he’s wearing from the shoot. As usual, San had come straight to his room as soon as they’d arrived back at the dorms, but they’d drifted into comfortable silence a while ago, both of them exhausted by their long day.

“Wooyoung,” San says suddenly, prompting Wooyoung to blink open his eyes from where he’d been dozing off.

“Yeah?” he mumbles. He’s only just noticed that Yeosang isn’t in the room anymore, probably off to talk to one of the other members or maybe call his parents.

“Who do you think the shipper fans would assume tops between the two of us?”

What.

No, seriously. What the fuck.

Wooyoung is so shocked by the question that he wonders if maybe he’d heard him wrong. Surely San wouldn’t have just asked him-

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he says.

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about,” San says as a reply, not at all perturbed by Wooyoung’s deadpan response.

Obviously Wooyoung knows what he’s talking about: their whole ‘Woosan’ gimmick, the exaggerated flirty banter whenever the two of them are on camera together, their not-so-secret looks that get the fans excited. He just doesn’t spend too much time thinking about what it all actually means; about the fact that there’s people out there who genuinely believe he and San are secretly in love, in a relationship, fucking each other, whatever.

“I dunno. Who cares?” Wooyoung says, because this conversation is making him feel weird in a way he never usually feels with San.

They’ve spent enough time together that not many topics of discussion are off the table. Wooyoung knows he can talk to San about anything; his insecurities, which female idols he thinks are hot, they’ve even discussed their favourite porn.

But talking about a scenario in which he and San would have sex and then trying to figure out who would top? Yeah, that’s fucking weird.

“Don’t be so boring. There’s no way the… you know, shippers, or whatever, haven’t wondered.”

Wooyoung is well aware of that – far more so he’d like to be, thanks to the time Yunho had been drunk and had decided to go on a Woosan forum for the laughs, reading the paragraphs upon paragraphs of mostly NSFW stories out loud to a mortified Wooyoung. A memory that he’d rather not revisit, which is why he very much does not want to be having this discussion right now.

But when San wants to talk about something, he’ll talk about it, so Wooyoung knows he has no choice but to entertain him if he wants this conversation to be over as soon as possible.

“I really don’t know. There’s probably different people who prefer each, uh, option,” Wooyoung says, feeling like all his internal organs are shrivelling up with discomfort as he says the words.

“Probably,” San’s expression is relaxed, like this is all just some joke to him.

“Yunho looked at a shipper forum once,” Wooyoung adds, not sure why he’s telling San this when they’ve never discussed it before and he’d been determined to not rehash the memory. “There’s a lot of people who think that I’d- um, that I-” he can’t finish the sentence. San definitely knows what he’d wanted to say. “Why do you wanna talk about this, anyway?”

“No reason, I was just curious,” San says. “Does it bother you, if people think you’d bottom?”

Holy fuck, this is the weirdest conversation Wooyoung has ever had in his entire life.

“Um, I don’t know. It’s just unrealistic,” he says, then flushes when he realises that it had sounded like he’d meant him bottoming for San was unrealistic rather than the entire premise of them having sex.

San raises an eyebrow. “Unrealistic?”

There’s something about the way he says it that prompts Wooyoung, against his better judgement, to ask, “You think I’d bottom for you? Hypothetically,” he adds quickly.

“Hypothetically, we’d do whatever we wanted, and it wouldn’t be any of the fans’ business.”

Wooyoung feels flushed and hot, this whole conversation is so weird and why are they still talking about this. “But you think fans assume that you’d top.”

San shrugs. “I don’t know what they assume. That’s why I asked you.”

“Well, my answer is that I think there’s a mixed verdict. But yeah, a lot think you’d top,” Wooyoung says, skin hot.

Before San can reply, the door opens and Yeosang comes in, looking as exhausted as Wooyoung feels. He suspiciously peers at their startled faces. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” they both answer simultaneously, and Yeosang just rolls his eyes, clearly too tired to deal with them right now.

“I’m gonna head to sleep,” San says, standing up and stretching. “See you guys bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget to wash your makeup off, Wooyoung. You won’t wanna mess up your skin when the comeback is so soon.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Wooyoung says, somehow dazed now that their conversation stopped abruptly. San doesn’t seem at all thrown off by the entire thing, so why is Wooyoung’s heart still beating this hard in his chest?

God, that was so weird. Now they’re done discussing it, though, and he can file this under the same category of unfortunate memories as Yunho reading him porn about himself with San, and try his best to forget about the whole thing.


The second incident happens a few days later, before Wooyoung’s been able to convince himself that talking to your best friend about who would top if you guys hypothetically decided to have sex is totally normal. Although, sure, the discussion had happened in regards to fan assumptions, it had felt like there had been more to it than merely that.

Wooyoung is definitely overthinking, but that’s what he does best.

Not just that conversation, too. He’s been overthinking every single one of his mannerisms, his behaviour around San and the other members. What is it about him that screams bottom – or, to others, top – and why were people talking about that in the first place? And, more importantly, why can’t he stop wondering which one has more accuracy?

He’s had sex before, when he’d had a secret kind-of-girlfriend during his trainee days, but that had been ages ago and since then life had just been too busy, the pressure of not getting caught more intense once he’d debuted.

And he’s always known San is attractive (obviously, since he has eyes), but he’d told himself that finding other guys handsome was just testament to how secure he is in his own masculinity. Even when they’d first moved in the dorms together and he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on San’s bare torso whenever he came out of the shower wearing only a towel, heart in his throat and an intense wave of guilt washing over him.

Dance practice the last few days has been a nightmare, with Wooyoung constantly getting distracted by San’s precise hip thrusts in their choreography, and by his sleeveless shirt that completely bared his biceps and ribs and let Wooyoung watch the flexing of the muscles as he moved his arms in time with the beat of the music.

This is all because of that conversation. Now that the idea’s been planted in his mind, the more he tries to not think about it, the more his brain is fixated on what they’d discussed.

First, it had just been an extension of San’s question; who would top? Then he’d started wondering what it would be like either way, which had lead into extended fantasies about him and San staying behind after practice and fucking in the shitty showers next to the dance studio.

And maybe Wooyoung’s always been attracted to San, the touchiness they exhibit whenever they’re on camera together a little too easy, his lingering gazes that fans noticed on video not always completely intentional.

“Wooyoung? You good?”

Somebody snaps their fingers in front of Wooyoung’s face and he blinks, zoning back into his present surroundings. Right. He’s in the middle of dance practice, and everyone is staring at him.

And he’s been completely zoned out the past few minutes.

“What are you thinking about so intensely? You’ve barely been paying attention this whole practice,” San says, lowering his arm.

“Not true,” Wooyoung mumbles; a shitty retort, but he’s too flustered to come up with something better.

San rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure. Then you’d better prove it by focusing on the choreo, you completely blanked on us.”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten about the change in formation.

Fuck. Okay, you got this.

“Yeah, my bad. Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair and moving into the correct dance position.

The music resumes and Wooyoung does his best to concentrate on the choreography, keeping his eyes on his own form in the large mirror instead of letting his gaze stray to San. San, who’s wearing a sleeveless shirt again, who’s biting his lip at his own reflection, obviously testing which facial expression would make the fans go crazy.

But then San’s eyes flick to meet Wooyoung’s at the exact moment the choreography involves them thrusting their hips into the air.

Wooyoung’s mouth suddenly feel very dry.

His eyes snap away before he can mess up the choreography again, trying to ignore the fact that his heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the physical exertion of dancing.

He knows he’s been extra on edge recently because their schedule has been so packed, and he’s not gotten much sleep. Not to mention the fact that he’s not had time to jerk off a single time the past week.

So, really, it’s not even his fault that he’s so easily distracted.

As if that isn’t enough, their new choreography is a so-called ‘sexy concept’, and Wooyoung’s been subject to San doing body rolls and thrusting and biting his lip during the dance, as well as apparently developing a sudden preference for wearing sleeveless shirts.

It seems like the universe is intent on making Wooyoung lose his mind. Because he really feels like he’s going crazy, not sure how to deal with this suddenly very intense sexual attraction to his best friend. So now he’s just overthinking everything he does.

At some point, when Wooyoung’s almost gotten himself into the zone of focus, a couple of staff members come by to check their progress. One of them says, “That’s great work, guys. I think we can call it a day.”

Wooyoung sighs in relief, glad that the torturous practice is finally over. He’s about to grab his belongings and head out when one of their dance instructors holds up his hand. “Wait a moment, San and Wooyoung, I’d like to talk to you?”

Wooyoung glances at San in confusion, who shrugs at him, indicating that he has no idea what’s going on either. The other members wave as they exit the studio; this isn’t out of the ordinary, and it’s pretty common for members to get individual feedback after practice.

Wooyoung just isn’t sure whether said feedback is going to be positive or negative. Probably negative, judging by his focus levels the past few days.

“So,” the instructor says when the three of them are the only people left in the room, “you know how I told you all that we’d been considering changing the beginning formation? Since we wanted to see what works best.”

They both nod, confused.

“Well, some of us staff members have been wondering if there’s any way we could… spice it up,” the instructor continues, waving his hand vaguely. “Like, you guys know a lot of the fans love the whole ‘Woosan’ thing, and fanservice is always great for publicity and making your fans happy. So, I’d like to work on developing a choreography that, uh, plays into that a little more.”

Wooyoung glances at San, who’s turned to look at him at the same time. San gives a shrug, as though saying ‘well, why not?’.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Wooyoung asks, breaking the eye contact and turning back to face the dance instructor.

“Nothing super intense, just a little something to make the fans happy. And since it’s right at the start, any non-fans watching will have their interest piqued. We were thinking that, if San steps out of the beginning formation towards you, that would lead on to the next formation really nicely.”

“So you just want him to… step out to me?” Wooyoung asks, confused.

“Well, first he steps out, then you can do something like intense eye contact and touching the backs of each other’s head before stepping away. It’ll look really nice on stage.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he feels so off-kilter. They’ve done way more intense stuff than this in the past – the fake love cover, for one – so this should be nothing out of the ordinary, but that had all been. Before.

“Sure, sounds good.” San says with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, hoping he sounds as nonchalant as San.

“I have to leave now to sort out some other stuff, but if you guys can just run through that a few times now, to check the timing? Then tomorrow in practice we’ll go over it again and we can try adding it to the whole formation for the song.” The instructor is already collecting his papers, clearly in a hurry.

“Of course,” San says, polite as ever. “I don’t mind staying late.”

“Me neither,” Wooyoung says, which is true. He’s even pulled all-nighters on several occasions when he’d wanted to get the choreography just right. It’s more the whole staying-late-specifically-to-practice-fanservice-with-San part that he minds.

“Great, I knew I could count on the two of you,” the instructor gives them a thumbs up, walking towards the studio exit. “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning for practice!”

The door closes and Wooyoung turns to face San.

“This shouldn’t be hard, it’s basically the same as the other times we’ve done this sort of thing on stage,” San says, echoing Wooyoung’s earlier thoughts.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung mumbles, wondering what he’s supposed to do now that the mere presence of his best friend sets him on edge like this. Not in a bad way – he’s just trying really hard to not look at San’s bare arms as he turns around to play the song from the beginning on the stereo in the practice room.

“Okay, so I’ll just step out towards you like this-” San says, stepping towards Wooyoung in time with the music, “then we can look each other deep in the eye, or whatever.”

San leans in towards him, hand resting on the back of Wooyoung’s neck, but Wooyoung steps away a moment too soon, missing the beat of the music.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbles, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s been wrong with me recently.”

“It’s okay, let’s just try again,” San says, setting the song back to the beginning.

But Wooyoung really can’t do this right now, pulse already hammering and everything in him rebelling at the idea of having to get all close up to San right now. And yeah, he’s a little turned on, which is so fucking embarrassing because literally all San had done was wear a sleeveless shirt and touch Wooyoung’s neck while staring into his eyes for like a second.

“Listen, I think we’ve got this,” Wooyoung says. “It’s like you said – we’ve done this hundreds of times before, let’s just wing it tomorrow in practice.”

During group practice this should all be easier, with all the other members and staff there as a distraction. Not just him and San, alone in the studio at night.

San looks apprehensive, but Wooyoung is already grabbing his belongings in a way he knows is too quick to seem casual about it, wanting to leave as soon as possible. “Wooyoung, I really think we ought to at least-”

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” Wooyoung says, picking up his bag. “We’ll probably be better if we get some extra rest instead. I’ve been way too exhausted, if we take it easy it’ll be way more beneficial than anything we can practice right now.”

He knows San can tell that this is out of character for him – he’s usually the definition of a perfectionist, would never be one to shirk on extra practice in favour of sleep. But he needs to get out of here, every nerve in his body tingling unpleasantly.

“If you say so,” San says hesitantly. “I’m gonna stay a little longer and run through some of the other stuff, but I’ll see you back at the dorms?”

“Yeah, see you later,” Wooyoung says, already leaving the practice hall.

He needs to come up with a better excuse for his weird behaviour, because the fact that he’d left so abruptly would already be enough to make San suspicious that something’s wrong. And his body is still tingling with the remnants of arousal, even though he’s no longer in San’s immediate presence.

This whole realisation that he wants to sleep with his best friend is incredibly inconvenient, and he really needs to think of some way to make it stop.


The minutes trickle by as Wooyoung waits for each member to finish showering, tapping his foot impatiently as he tries to focus on watching the video recordings of practice today, keeping his eyes on himself on the screen instead of San in his sleeveless shirt.

There’s a knock on his door, and both Wooyoung and Yeosang look up. “Shower’s free,” Seonghwa tells Wooyoung.

Fucking finally.

“Thanks,” he says, standing up and grabbing his towel off the hook. His body is still thrumming with tension and sexual frustration, and he’s been waiting all week for the chance to jack off. Maybe he’ll be less irritable when he isn’t so fucking horny.

He locks the door, leaning back against it in relief. “Finally,” he whispers to the empty bathroom.

He strips off his sweaty practice clothes and steps into the shower, letting the hot spray of water loosen his tense muscles. He spends about ten seconds shampooing his hair before he can’t stop himself from reaching down and wrapping his fist around his already half-hard cock.

Fuck yes.

He’s been sporting a semi all evening, and it feels so fucking good to finally touch himself that he has to clench his jaw to stop his groans from slipping out into the empty room. The walls in the dorm are paper-thin, and he doesn’t want to risk the other members overhearing him, even if all of them are kinda aware that everyone uses their shower timeslot for this sort of thing.

Water isn’t the best lube and the slide as Wooyoung jerks himself off isn’t super smooth, but he’s so far gone that he doesn’t give a fuck and this is the best he’s felt in days. His heavy breathing is hopefully disguised by the sound of running water from the shower, but at this point he’s too preoccupied to worry about that too much.

Images come to mind, unbidden, of San’s arms today during practice, the movement of his biceps as they flexed and unflexed during the choreography. Of San’s powerful hip thrusts, all that mouth-watering sexiness. The face-to-face part of the choreography, San so close that Wooyoung can almost picture what it would be like to close the distance between them and kiss.

Wooyoung’s head falls back against the tiled wall. His legs feel like they’re about to give out, partly because of how exhausted he is, but also because this is so good. Not making any noises is becoming difficult; he thinks maybe a few whimpers have slipped through, but he can’t be sure.

He’ll probably feel guilty, later, for thinking of his best friend at a time like this, but right now he just can’t stop imagining San pinning him down onto one of the benches in the practice room and fucking the soul out of him with those precisely timed hip thrusts.

He’s so close. Fuck.

The pressure builds in his abdomen, overwhelming and so fucking good after the stress of the past few days. This is exactly what he’d needed, all the tension in his muscles relaxing as he allows his body to slacken into the feeling of impending orgasm.

There’s a loud knock on the door, cutting through the relative quiet of the bathroom.

Wooyoung freezes, cock still hard and dripping in his hand.

“Get out, Wooyoung! Your time’s up,” San’s familiar and horrifically unwelcome voice sounds through the door.

Wooyoung stares at the closed door, stomach turning to ice. “No way,” he replies, glad that his voice is even. “That wasn’t fifteen minutes.”

“The managers said we have to take quicker showers today because of the early schedules tomorrow. Weren’t you paying attention?”

Wooyoung had not been paying attention. This is like some massive cosmic joke; the universe having a laugh at his expense.

“Give me two minutes,” he says. Two minutes should be long enough to orgasm and make sure all his come is washed down the drain. He feels so on-edge that he could probably get himself off with one jerk of his wrist.

“Fine,” San says, voice amused. “But only because I’m such a nice and caring friend. I’ll wait here, so hurry.”

Wooyoung swallows the bitter feeling in his throat, still staring at the locked door in horror. He’s so hard his dick is fucking pulsing in his hand, but there’s nothing more humiliating than the prospect of jerking off when San – the main feature of his fantasies and the original cause of all this – is standing a few meters away, separated only by a wooden door that does absolutely nothing to muffle sound.

But also, the thought of leaving the bathroom rock-hard and even more sexually frustrated than he’d been during practice makes him want to cry.

Slowly, heart hammering in his throat, he slides his hand along his cock, just once. Fuck, he’s so horny.

San’s started humming outside the door, practicing his part in one of their songs or something, and Wooyoung can’t do this.

He can’t.

So he switches the valve of the shower to the coldest setting, icy water flowing over his head and back as he tries to numb the heat flowing through his entire body. The water is painfully cold, and he can’t bear it for longer than a few seconds, so he gives up on that and switches the shower off. At least he’s a little less hard, albeit none the less sexually frustrated.

Wooyoung steps out and wraps the towel around his waist, taking a few seconds to adjust himself so that his fairly obvious boner becomes slightly less obvious.

This is so fucking unfair, he thinks, feeling incredibly sorry for himself and his current predicament.

He unlocks the door and steps past San, angling himself so that his crotch is facing away from him. “Shower’s all yours,” he says.

“Thanks,” San says, and there’s something in his expression that Wooyoung can’t pinpoint. San’s gaze dips to Wooyoung’s shoulders and back, then returns to his eyes. “That new workout routine is really paying off, huh?”

“What?” Wooyoung says dumbly.

“You just look good, that’s all.” San says, poking his finger firmly into Wooyoung’s bicep. Wooyoung’s cock twitches and he grips the towel more firmly.

“Uh, th-thank you,” Wooyoung manages to say. He has no idea how he hasn’t melted into a puddle of horniness on the floor.

San looks at him for another long moment, during which Wooyoung wonders whether San will attribute his flushed cheeks to the shower he’d just taken. Then San smiles brightly at him, all dimples and sunny eyes, and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door in Wooyoung’s face.

Okay. What the fuck.

It really feels like the universe has decided to take a massive dump on his life and now everything sucks and he’s still so turned on, but it’s like an itch (a really distracting, painfully inconvenient itch) he can’t scratch.

He walks back into his room and momentarily considers asking Yeosang to give him a few minutes of privacy so that he can finally take care of his boner, but the request feels so mortifying that he can’t bring himself to do that. Even if he pretends it’s for an unrelated reason, there’s no way Yeosang wouldn’t guess the truth. And then he’d probably tell the other members, and everyone would tease Wooyoung for not being able to handle his urges properly like the rest of them.

So instead Wooyoung miserably pulls on a pair of cotton pyjama pants and bundles himself up under his blanket in bed. Even the thin fabric feels stimulating against his sensitive skin, the simple movement of pushing his hips against the covers so nice that if Yeosang wasn’t sitting a meter away in his own bed then Wooyoung would probably be able to get himself off like that.

But Yeosang is sitting right there, so Wooyoung stills and tries to picture the unsexiest things he can imagine in an attempt to kill his boner: The Pokemon theme song. Cats wearing sunglasses. Multiplication tables. Their manager eating pizza. San in the shower, right now, naked with water rolling down his body, maybe reaching down to touch his own cock and-

Fuck. Wooyoung’s life sucks.

He already knows that he’s not gonna get much sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

Wooyoung’s told to stay behind to practice the choreography with San again the next day.

San’s wearing another sleeveless shirt. This time it’s dark green, and sticks to his torso with post-shower dampness.

They’ve both got slightly wet hair and smell like the cheap bodywash that the studio showers are equipped with, ‘citrus rush’ or some shit. After having finished practice, they’d both washed up with the others and had been ready to head back to the dorms when the dance instructor had come up to them, telling them that it was vital for them to have the new addition to the choreography figured out by tomorrow.

It’s not even like they’d done that dreaded part during practice; instead, they’d been working on the choreography for one of the B-side tracks. So now Wooyoung’s basically stuck in the same predicament as yesterday, except he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to escape this time.

“I think it’s best if we do like, bam, bam, bam,” San times each word with a new movement in the dance, “then I’ll step towards you, we’re face-to-face and you step away.”

Wooyoung nods, trying to stay focused.

“Okay, let’s take it from the top,” San says, tapping the play button on his phone so that the music rings through the empty practice room.

They start the dance; Wooyoung knows this part well enough that it feels easy. Then San is stepping towards him around and leaning in and Wooyoung blanks, freezing and staying where he is.

“For fucks sake, Wooyoung,” San says, clearly irritated. “It’s really not that difficult.”

“I’m just tired,” Wooyoung snaps.

His skin is itching with tension and he really, really wishes he’d gotten the chance to jerk off in the shower yesterday. All day he’s felt completely on edge, like an elastic band pulled tight and ready to break at any given moment. Maybe if he’d been able to take care of his problem yesterday, he wouldn’t be getting sort of turned on from literally nothing, just the sight of San’s biceps and the vague thought of them using this late-night privacy in the dance studio for something more interesting than dance practice.

“Can you not be so bitchy?” San switches off the music again and silence engulfs the practice room. “We’re all running on equally little sleep.”

“Whatever,” Wooyoung says in annoyance, turning to grab his water bottle and take a gulp in an attempt to make his mouth feel less dry. “This part of the choreography is stupid.”

San glares at him. “I don’t know what crawled up your ass recently, but you need to get over yourself before you screw up everything for the rest of us. You know that this is exactly the kind of thing that will grab people’s attention.”

“Well, it’s stupid and I don’t want to do it.”

San rubs his temples as he exhales, deliberately slowly. “Wooyoung, you’re being completely unreasonable. And I don’t get you at all. We do loads of similar fanservice all the time, why’s this so hard?”

Okay, that’s a good point.

But it’s different when there’s the barrier of cameras and knowing thousands of people are watching, or when the other members are there, or when six staff members are staring at them while they record a vlive. It’s not the same as getting close while alone in the practice room late at night.

Besides, all of that stuff had been before Wooyoung had felt like his entire world had been turned upside down, before he’d realised that the way he feels about San is far from platonic.

“Well, I still don’t wanna,” Wooyoung mumbles, but even he knows he’s being irrational.

San’s gaze has turned sharp, eyes narrow as his gaze drops down Wooyoung’s body appraisingly and back up again. Wooyoung isn’t quite sure what the look means, but it makes unwelcome shivers run up his spine. He tells himself to snap out of it.

“You know what I think?” San asks, taking a step closer. Wooyoung steps back automatically, then curses himself in his head. “I think you’re intimidated by me.”

Wooyoung glares at him. “Go fuck yourself,” he deadpans.

San looks unperturbed. “Okay, if fanservice doesn’t bother you, prove it. Get up in my face, the way we’re supposed to be doing it in the choreography, except I’ll stay right here.”

Wooyoung blinks, feeling the haze of emotions from earlier swirl through him again at the prospect of being so close to San. “Fine,” he says, because now it’s a matter of pride.

San smirks at him as he takes a step forward, then another, until they’re as close as they can be without actually kissing, definitely closer than the choreography requires, noses brushing. Wooyoung wants to punch his stupid, smug face.

“There we go,” San says softly, voice oozing sarcastic praise. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re an asshole,” Wooyoung says, stepping back again.

“Hm.” San’s still watching him with that calculating look in his eye. “I mean, that wasn’t bad, but you can’t be so skittish if we’re gonna make it seem natural.”

“I wasn’t being skittish,” Wooyoung grumbles, unable to come up with a better retort because his brain has kinda stopped working, all fuzzy and slow.

“You practically jumped away from me after less than a second.” San points out, unimpressed. “If you really want this to look sexy on stage instead of awkward, you’re gonna have to do a little better.”

“Whatever, let’s work on this later,” Wooyoung says, already turning away.

San grabs his arm, holding him in place. “Actually, we’re going to work on this right now.” He takes a few steps forward, Wooyoung moving back automatically, until he’s practically pressed against the mirror, the surface cold against his shoulders.

“W-what are you doing?” Wooyoung manages to say, staring at San.

“I think it’s time we officially figure out this whole fanservice thing,” San says casually, like he’s not at all bothered by their closeness. “Not just for the choreography, but in general. I need to know your limits if we’re gonna commit to doing this. Like, how far we can go before you’re uncomfortable.”

“Um, I guess?”

San rests his forearms against the mirror, caging Wooyoung in the space between them. Their faces are even closer than they’d been during the choreography practice. The scent of that fucking citrus rush bodywash is making him dizzy, so much more pleasant on San’s skin than he usually feels about it when he has to use it himself.

“How’s this?” San asks, his breath hitting Wooyoung’s lips.

“Fine,” Wooyoung forces out, heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he can barely breathe.

God, what would anyone think if they walked into the practice room right now. Wooyoung doesn’t have a fucking clue what San’s doing, helpless to do anything but just stand there as San pins him to the wall without even physically touching him.

“Mhm. Alright, how about this?” San moves his hands away from the mirror and tangles them gently in Wooyoung’s hair, tilting his head back to expose his neck.

“Still fine.” Wooyoung thinks he might be dying.

Every nerve ending in his body is on fire, and, yeah, this is definitely something he’s thought about before. In a different context – although he has no clue what the current context is. He doesn’t know what San’s doing right now, or whether San can tell that he’s about two seconds away from getting hard just from being pressed against the mirror like this.

San’s still watching him with that same intense stare, and neither of them move for a moment, at a temporary stale mate. Wooyoung has no idea whether San had been expecting him to tell him to stop before this point; has no idea at all about what San’s thinking for the first time since he and San had become fast friends and had started hanging out all the time.

Then San’s hands are moving to cup Wooyoung’s face, the gesture oddly intimate in a way that makes Wooyoung’s stomach flutter and heart beat painfully in his chest.

“Is this okay?” San asks, eyes locked with Wooyoung’s.

Something about the gentleness of San’s touch is driving Wooyoung insane, making him wanna push until San snaps and feels just a fraction of the desire rushing through Wooyoung’s veins.

“Obviously,” he says, voice a little meaner than he’d intended because he’s losing his fucking mind here and San seems to be totally calm.

“There’s nothing obvious about that seeing as you were barely able to look me in the eyes five minutes ago,” San says, fingers pressing in just a tiny bit harder against Wooyoung’s skin.

“I told you that was because I think the choreography is stupid; it had nothing to do with you,” Wooyoung retorts, watching San’s eyes narrow at the words.

And then San’s hands are sliding down along his jaw slowly, and, before Wooyoung’s hazy brain can catch up with what’s happening, San has both his hands around Wooyoung’s neck, applying the barest amount of pressure.

It’s gentle enough that Wooyoung hardly feels it, but the gesture itself is enough to make his dick twitch in his pants. Surely San can feel his hammering pulse through his skin.

Wooyoung’s never seen idols do fanservice like this before.

“How about now?” San whispers against his ear, breath hot.

Wooyoung can’t fucking speak, can’t think beyond San in front of him.

He nods.

San’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “I asked you in a question,” he says in a tone that should probably make Wooyoung snap at him to stop being condescending but instead make his cock throb.

Wooyoung opens his mouth to reply, but San tightens his hands the tiniest of amounts - Jesus fuck what is happening holy fucking shit - and a whimper slips out before Wooyoung can stop himself.

His eyes widen, but before he can panic, San growls lowly and shoves his thigh between Wooyoung’s legs, right against his dick.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung chokes out.

San pushes up against Wooyoung, hands moving to his waist to pull him down to grind against his thigh. It feels fucking incredible, and Wooyoung’s hips jerk forward, more than a little desperate.

“How’s this?” San asks, voice rough.

Wooyoung feels delirious with lust. “F-fuck. It’s good,” he manages to say.

He’s started grinding against San’s thigh, tiny, almost subconscious movements in his hips, chasing the delicious pressure. San’s hands tighten on his waist and he pulls him harder against his body, and Wooyoung can’t help his moan.

It feels almost unreal that this is actually happening. All the sexual frustration of the past week accumulating in this moment, each of Wooyoung’s nerves like livewires in his body.

“Tell me you want this.” San says, breathing heavily. “Tell me you don’t wanna stop.”

Wooyoung nods, breath coming out in pants.

“I told you to use your words,” San murmurs against his ear.

Oh, god.

“I- fuck. I want you, yeah.”

San groans, low in his throat, and when he presses forward into Wooyoung’s hips, and Wooyoung can feel that he’s not the only one affected by this, San’s cock hard against the fabric of his sweatpants. San’s hands grab onto Wooyoung’s ass, then pull him forward to rub against him.

“I’ve waited so fucking long to hear you say that,” San says, voice rough. “Especially with how obvious you were being recently; I could see you checking me out during the dance practices. That’s why I kept wearing sleeveless shirts. I thought you were gonna snap and make a move, but you were being so stubborn.”

Wooyoung has no idea how San’s able to form coherent sentences right now. “I– hngh, I didn’t know whether you’re, shit, into me too,” he says, choking on moans whenever San presses him harder against the mirror and moves more firmly against Wooyoung’s cock.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about fucking you since you started doing sexy dances on variety shows,” San says, and Wooyoung groans at the intensity in his eyes. “I thought I was gonna go insane from how badly I wanted you.”

Wooyoung’s hands are digging into San’s shoulders, tugging him closer as San tightens his grip on Wooyoung’s ass, both of them desperately grinding against each other. It’s all so graceless and primal and hot, their panting breaths loud in the silence of the studio.

“San, I-” Wooyoung wants to ask San to kiss him but can’t get the words out, instead leaning in to catch San’s lips against his own with a muffled groan.

And then they’re kissing, with the same ferocity and impatience as their bodies moving against each other. Wooyoung’s head knocks back against the mirror, not quite hard enough to hurt; this is all so overwhelming that he’s powerless to do anything except moan against San’s lips.

San’s tongue is in his mouth, the kiss open-mouthed and frantic, so fucking good that Wooyoung is dizzy with it. Their teeth knock together and San’s hand shoves up under Wooyoung’s shirt, fingers digging into the bare skin.

“God, fuck,” San groans, pulling back to bury his head in Wooyoung’s neck, breathing heavily. “You’re so fucking- fuck.”

“Real eloquent,” Wooyoung mumbles, even though he’s not much better off himself.

“Shut up,” San says, jerking his hips forward against Wooyoung’s cock, the pressure incredible despite the layers of clothes between them. “Always gotta have the last word, huh?”

Wooyoung’s exhale is shaky as he tightens his grip on San’s shoulders, the material of that stupid sleeveless shirt creasing under his hands. “It’s part of my charm.”

“It’s annoying,” San replies, mouth brushing along Wooyoung’s neck carefully – they both know how much trouble Wooyoung would get into if he suddenly showed up with a hickey on his neck.

“I’d beg to differ,” Wooyoung’s tugs on San’s hair, pulling him back into another kiss, shudders of pleasure running through his body every time he rocks against San.

“Then beg,” San says between the kisses, hands tightening on Wooyoung’s ass as Wooyoung lets out a stuttered groan.

San’s tongue is hot and wet in his mouth, drawing helpless sounds out of him. It’s a good thing there’s no chance of anyone else being anywhere near this practice room so late or else he’d be more worried about how much noise they’re making, their loud panting filling the otherwise silent studio. He’s never been more grateful for the soundproofing technology that had definitely been intended for muffling the loud music during dance practice, but is now serving an alternative purpose.

Wooyoung bites down on San’s bottom lip, relishing the deep groan he gets out of him.

“I really wanna-” San pulls back, panting. “I really wanna fuck you.”

Holy fucking hell.

Wooyoung’s so lightheaded with lust, wants nothing more than to get rid of all the remaining space between them, impatient and horny and not giving a fuck about what the consequences of actually crossing that line will be.

“Shit, yeah, I want that too,” he says, tugging at San’s shirt to indicate that he wants it off. “But we don’t have…”

“There’s lube and condoms in the desk drawer,” San says as he draws back to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor and then pressing his body against Wooyoung’s again.

For a moment, Wooyoung is distracted by all the bare skin suddenly available for him to look at- for him to touch. And this time it’s allowed, unlike all the evenings and mornings where he’d been subjected to shirtless San in the dorms, while working out, or completely naked while in the communal showers at the practice studio; catching short glimpses before forcing himself to look away. He runs his hands along San’s well-muscled abdomen and shoulders, the skin hot under his palms.

“Wait, how do you know that?” Wooyoung asks when the words finally register in his hazy brain.

San raises an eyebrow. “This is where people come when they wanna get laid. We can’t exactly bring anyone back to the dorms.”

Wooyoung had been vaguely aware that some of the others had hooked up with idols from other groups on rare occasions, and that it hadn’t been at the dorms, but he’d never put enough thought into it to wonder how the technicalities of that had worked. A certain jealousy shoots through him at the thought of San having done this with anyone else, and he can’t help but ask, “Have you…?”

“No,” San says simply. “I wasn’t kidding earlier. You’ve been the only one on my mind for a while now.”

The words fill Wooyoung with a rush of affection, and he’s struck by how easy this is – how much sense it makes for this to happen between them as it is right now. Inevitable, really.

And then San is tugging Wooyoung’s shirt off, the material falling to the floor beside his own. The mirror is cold against Wooyoung’s back, a contrast from the heat of San’s skin against his. Everything is overwhelming in a good way and Wooyoung’s never felt like this before in his life; like he would run through fire just to keep San’s body against his.

“I’ve imagined this happening,” he mumbles before he has too much time to think about what he’s saying.

San’s hands are running along his sides, then reach down to tug his hips against his own again. “Mmh, which part?”

Wooyoung blinks at him, eyelids heavy with arousal. He doesn’t know whether San’s being serious, but his face has no indication that he’s not. “Us, against this mirror,” he finally says, skin flushing with the words.

It’s true – even before he’d had his large realisation a week ago about just how much he wanted San’s hands on his body, he’d sometimes caught himself staring at San in dance practice, wondering whether he’d be strong enough to pin Wooyoung to the mirror, wondering what it would be like to get shoved back against it.

San leans back a little, gaze dark. “What else did you think about?”

Now Wooyoung’s more embarrassed, the intensity in San’s eyes making him feel heavy and hot. “I can’t tell you that,” he says, almost scandalised at the prospect of having to spill the secrets he’s kept locked inside his brain, the kinds of things San had done to him in his imagination.

“Why not? If you tell me, maybe we can do it,” San says the words directly against Wooyoung’s ear, making his cock throb painfully in his sweatpants.

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung groans, hips rutting forward just as San steps back completely, their bodies no longer touching at all. The small amount of space between them is cruel. “You’re an asshole.”

San crosses his arms, gaze still fixed on Wooyoung. “Just trying to be communicative.”

“Why don’t you share first, then?” Wooyoung retorts, because he can play this game too. “What have you fantasised about me?”

San looks thoughtful for a moment, reaching up to press his thumb against Wooyoung’s bottom lip. Then he moves his hands to turn Wooyoung around, guiding him by the shoulders, so that he’s looking at himself in the mirror. Wooyoung’s face is flushed, hair messed up, already looking so debauched despite the fact that all they’ve done is kiss. He looks good, though, and that alone is enough to fill him with a rush of arousal. The type of fucked-up narcissism that comes with being an idol.

“Put your hands on the mirror,” San murmurs against Wooyoung’s ear.

And because he’s still looking at his reflection, Wooyoung can see the exact way he subconsciously responds to the words, the way his eyes glaze over slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

He lifts his arms, resting his hands on the mirror above his head, uncomfortably hard in his sweatpants. He craves the pressure of San rubbing against him from earlier, but something about this is so hot that he doesn’t want to stop.

San grips his hips, pushing forward so that his hard cock rubs against Wooyoung’s ass. Wooyoung lets out a helpless groan, head falling against the mirror and forehead resting against the cool surface.

“I thought about this,” San says, voice rough. “Not fucking you, just rubbing my cock against your ass like this,” he emphasises each of the words with a firm thrust, “until I came all over your back.”

“Jesus, San,” Wooyoung groans, so turned on he thinks he might be losing his mind. “I want- shit.”

“What do you want?” San says, still thrusting against Wooyoung’s sweatpants-covered ass.

“Fuck me. Please, I want it so bad,” he manages to get out. At this point, he doesn’t care if the world implodes around them, he just needs San inside him or else he might die from wanting.

He lifts his head to catch San’s eye in the mirror, sees the lust in his eyes. “Are you sure? You’ve never taken dick before.”

“Who knows when we’ll get another opportunity like this,” Wooyoung says. “It’s rare enough for one of us to have a few minutes to ourselves, let alone both of us at the same time.”

San still looks hesitant, so Wooyoung – getting impatient – presses his ass back against him, back arching a little. He can feel the way San’s grip on his hips tightens, see the way he has to close his eyes for a second before they open, gaze even darker than before.

“Come on, San. If it’s not good, we’ll just stop.”

“Fuck, okay, let’s try,” San says finally, and Wooyoung’s filled with a rush of excitement. “I’m gonna go get lube, and I want you to stay exactly as you are. Don’t move.”

Wooyoung’s heart is pounding in his chest as he obediently stays with his forearms resting against the mirror. It’s embarrassing, especially when San’s halfway across the room and he’s still standing here, all ready for him. But it’s also nice, having someone to tell him what to do like this, makes his body relax and mind hazy in the best possible way.

He wants to touch himself. Badly. His cock is heavy and tight and it’s getting torturous to just stand here and wait, every second making him more wound up. And he’s been horny all week, hanging onto his last nerves and craving sweet release.

But San had asked him not to move, so he doesn’t.

There’s the sound of a drawer closing and then San is walking back towards him, Wooyoung’s back tensing with anticipation. He lifts his head a little, catching San’s eyes in the mirror as he leans forward to press a kiss against Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Fuck, you’re being so good for me,” San mumbles. “You have no idea how hot you are.”

Wooyoung feels warm all over, clenching his fists above his head as he tries to swallow his moan. He knows that San can still tell just how much the words have an effect on him, can see his small smirk in the reflection as he continues pressing kisses into Wooyoung’s skin.

“Praise kink, huh?” San says, amusement seeping into his voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” Wooyoung mutters, closing his eyes as he feels his face flush with shame and arousal.

“Nah, I can work with that. Pretty boy, you’re so gorgeous.”

Wooyoung hates how responsive he is to San’s words, fingers digging into his palms as a shudder runs through him. “I’m gonna kill you,” he grits out.

“What happened to being good?” San says, still teasing. “You were waiting for me so nicely just now.”

“San, please.” He sounds so fucking whiney, but it seems to be doing something for San, his hips kicking forward against Wooyoung’s ass with a groan.

“Shit, okay, I got you. Are you cool with getting naked?”

Wooyoung snorts. “You’re doing great at setting the mood. Yeah, I’m cool with that.”

He’s about to push off the mirror to take his sweatpants off, but San notices the movement and presses a hand against his back, keeping him pinned against the hard surface.

“I didn’t say you can move, baby,” San murmurs, breath hot against his ear.

Fuck.

The effect of his words on Wooyoung is instantaneous, making him let out a small gasp as his cock throbs. Like San had asked, he stays still. Waiting with his heart pounding in his throat as San slowly tugs his sweatpants and boxers off in one go, pooling around his ankles before he steps out of them. Vaguely, Wooyoung thinks about how ridiculous it is that he’s got his ass bare and dick out in the fucking practice studio, but then San’s running a hand along his thighs and rational thought goes flying out of the window.

Looking at his reflection feels a little too humiliating at this point, so his eyes are tightly shut as he pants against the mirror, every small touch of San driving him fucking insane.

“Wooyoung, you’re so gorgeous,” San says, and this time there’s no hint of teasing in his voice, just sheer desire.

“Please,” Wooyoung says again. At this point, the need to be touched by far outweighs his pride, and he might just end up begging for it if San keeps this up.

“I’m gonna finger you now, ‘kay?” San says, and Wooyoung can’t help his amused exhale at how easily San can switch to making statements like this so casually. “Just say if you wanna stop, or if you don’t like it.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replies, impatient and hot all over. He’s sure that he wants this – needs it, and, most importantly, he trusts San completely.

Because, really, San is the only person he’d trust to get him like this, the only one he’d be able to get naked in front of in the studio lighting without having to worry about anything except how fast he can finally get his cock inside him.

He can hear the sound of the lube bottle opening, and, a moment later, San’s cool, wet fingers are slipping down to circle his rim gently. It really hits him that they’re doing this – that he’s really about to bottom for the first time ever, in the fucking practice room of all places. But then San is pressing kisses between his shoulder, murmuring that he should relax, and Wooyoung decides that he doesn’t really care about anything except that they’re doing this together.

“That’s right, just like that,” San says as he slides the first finger in, other hand stroking gently along his hip.

Even though the finger itself isn’t really doing much for him, Wooyoung thrives on this sort of thing. On having San’s full attention on him, focused on every response of his body. Maybe it’s that trace of narcissism; the desperate need to be San’s sole focus.

Wooyoung’s eyes are still squeezed shut, breath fogging up the mirror. He lets out a choked moan when San crooks his finger inside him, brushing up against a spot that makes pleasure spark through his entire body. And San is moving his other hand to grip Wooyoung’s cock, stroking him just right, all the sensations too much and not enough.

“Feels good?” San asks, leaning forward to run his tongue along the sensitive patch of skin on Wooyoung’s neck.

Wooyoung nods into the mirror, too busy trying to hold back the embarrassing noises threatening to escape to answer properly. San, however, isn’t having any of that, warningly brushing his teeth along the shell of his ear.

“Baby, I told you to use words,” he whispers, and Wooyoung almost fucking comes right then and there.

“I-It’s good,” he gets out, a half-moan slipping through.

And it is good. San really seems to know what he’s doing, touching Wooyoung in all the right ways. It’s probably a combination of how well they know each other and sexual experience that he’d gained in situations Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about right now.

“I’m gonna give you two fingers now, okay?”

Wooyoung almost nods again, but remembers what San told him and mumbles a garbled “Okay,” instead.

There’s a more noticeable burn as San starts stretching him open with two fingers, although any pain easy to ignore with how good it feels as San thumbs the head of his cock. San angles his fingers slightly differently, hitting the spot inside Wooyoung again that makes him see stars.

“God, yeah, yeah,” he groans, head falling forward to hang between his shoulders as he lets the pleasure shudder through him.

And he blinks his eyes open, the sight of San’s hand on his cock almost too much to handle after all the fantasies he’d had about exactly this happening.

“Do you wanna come now?” San asks, casual if it weren’t for the roughness to his voice. “We don’t have to go all the way if you’d rather-”

“I have a really short refractory period,” Wooyoung gasps out, interrupting him.

There’s a nearly imperceptible pause in San’s movements that Wooyoung only notices because all his attention is on San’s fingers inside him. “How many times can you come in a row?”

“Definitely two? Maybe three.”

“Fuck,” San sounds almost pained, and Wooyoung wonders how he’s managed to hold off on touching himself for this long. “Okay, then.”

And then he’s properly jerking Wooyoung off, the way he might do to himself. He adds a third finger, working Wooyoung’s body open with just the right amount of pressure as he helplessly moans into the fogged-up mirror surface.

“Baby, keep your eyes open. I want you to watch what I’m doing,” San says, repeatedly nudging his fingers inside Wooyoung’s body against the sparking bundle of nerves.

Wooyoung tries his best to stop himself from closing his eyes, but it’s all so overwhelming and he feels so good that he just wants to rest his forehead against the mirror and lose himself in the way he can feel his body quickly approaching the edge.

Then San is tugging his head back, gripping his hair as Wooyoung’s cock weeps at the loss of San’s hand. “Eyes open,” San murmurs against his ear, breath hitting the hot skin of his neck. “Watch what I’m doing to you.”

Wooyoung gives a choked whimper, and it’s too much, all the pent-up desire from the past week leading up to this moment. He’s leaning back against San’s body, letting him take total control as they stare at each other in the mirror, the sight of himself coming apart in San’s arms permanently engraved into his mind. San lets go of his hair to stroke his cock again, Wooyoung’s head falling back against San’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna- fuck-” he gasps out.

“That’s right,” San murmurs, eyes locked with Wooyoung’s in the mirror reflection. “Come for me.”

Wooyoung tenses, keening as his orgasm hits him in a rush. He’s floating, blissed out, finally getting release after so long. His come splatters across the mirror, so obscene that he can barely stand it, the sight sending tremors of aftershock through his body.

Okay, so that was definitely worth the wait.

San carefully pulls his fingers out of his body, dropping a kiss against his shoulder. Wooyoung lazily turns around to face him, head still spinning, and San takes the hint and presses a soft kiss against his lips, slipping his tongue into Wooyoung’s mouth a moment later.

Wooyoung is pleasantly sensitive as he pulls San up against himself, moaning quietly against him. San’s still wearing sweatpants, and hisses when his hard cock brushes against Wooyoung’s naked body.

“You gonna fuck me?” Wooyoung asks, because he wants it more than ever now, and because he hadn’t been kidding about having a short refractory period.

He’s always been greedy for pleasure, never fully satiated after one orgasm, and it’s like a whole new world has just been opened for him after how good San’s fingers had made him feel. He needs more, and even though his cock is still soft, he’s pretty sure he’ll be ready to go in a minute or so if San keeps looking at him like this. Like Wooyoung’s the only one he’s ever wanted.

“Are you sure?” San asks. “We don’t have to.”

“Come on,” Wooyoung mumbles, digging his fingers into San’s bare shoulders. “You said you’ve been thinking about this for a while, fuckin’ prove it.”

He can feel the way San’s hips kick forward at that. “Shit. Okay, but we gotta go to the desk. I’m not strong enough to fuck you against the mirror.”

Wooyoung lets out an amused exhale, allowing San to tug him across the room. He can feel how wound up San is in his tight grip, the way he pushes Wooyoung until he’s lying down, back on the desk, with enough force that his dick gives an interested twitch.

“Do you want me to bend you over the desk or do you wanna take it like this?” San asks, hands on Wooyoung’s thighs and gaze dark.

Both positions are far more submissive than anything Wooyoung has ever done before, but that’s definitely not off-putting. “Like this,” he says, spreading his legs so that San can step between them.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” San mumbles, gaze roaming over Wooyoung’s body spread out in front of him. He abandons his grip on Wooyoung’s thighs to lean forward and tilt his chin up, capturing his lips in a deep, messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and promises of what’s to come.

“Fuckin’ hurry up,” Wooyoung mumbles against his lips, ever impatient.

“You’re the one who already got off once while I’m still suffering,” San says, raising an eyebrow. “Be a little more considerate.”

Even so, he leans down to grab one of the condoms from the drawer, holding the foil packet between his teeth as he covers his fingers with more lube.

Wooyoung wiggles impatiently, tugging San closer. He’s rewarded with the sting of San landing a smack on the junction of his ass and thigh, which makes him let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

Fuck, you’re into that?” San says, incredulous, setting the condom aside.

Wooyoung’s already hard and leaking again; he can’t think much beyond the need to have San filling him up right now. “I- I guess so? Shit, hurry up, San.”

“Be patient,” San says, licking along the skin on Wooyoung’s shoulder as he slides his fingers into Wooyoung’s body again at an infuriatingly slow pace. “I don’t wanna hurt you. You’re still really tight.”

Wooyoung sort of wants to bitch at him for claiming he’s gonna fuck him and not following through with it, but then San’s rubbing up against his prostate with his fingers and Wooyoung’s protests die on his tongue, swallowed up by moans instead. It’s not enough, though. He needs more – needs San naked, cock inside him.

There’s something bizarrely intimate about being laid out like this for San in the studio lighting, being able to see the look on his face as he continues working Wooyoung’s body open until he’s relaxed and boneless against the hard surface of the desk. He’s losing track of time, can’t focus on anything except the pleasure flowing through his veins.

“I’m ready, San,” Wooyoung grits out when he can’t take it anymore. “You better fuck me before I find someone else to-”

Smack.

Wooyoung groans, hands balling into fists as his body jerks away from the stinging sensation left by San’s handprint on his thigh, so fucking good that it’s making him light-headed. Making him want less, want more.

“Shit, do that again,” he gasps out.

He can hear San’s sharp inhale. “Yeah? You want another?”

Wooyoung stutters out a “Yes,” and this time he’s more prepared when San lands a slap against his skin. It fills him with the same rush as the last one, and he’s about to ask for a third when San pulls his fingers out, leaving him clenching around the emptiness.

“Wha-” he starts asking, but then San is jostling him forward with urgency, pushing his thighs further apart and tearing the condom packet open.

“Fuck, Wooyoung, you’re making me go insane,” San says, raw and honest. His eyes are filled with a desperation Wooyoung has never seen on him. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I-I’ve never felt like- this, either,” Wooyoung manages to say, too out of it to form a coherent response.

He’s telling the truth, knows his expression must mirror San’s desperation, because he’s never felt anything close to how he does now. He doesn’t even know how to deal with the feelings rushing through him, wants San to fuck him until it hurts so that he has a physical outlet for the overwhelming waves of emotions.

And finally, after all the waiting, San’s cock is pressing into him. Slowly, ever so slowly. Wooyoung knows he’s letting out loud whimpers; San leans down to kiss him and absorb the sounds he’s making into his mouth, intertwining their fingers together and pressing Wooyoung’s hands against the desk.

“You’re – fuck – taking me so well, so good for me,” San says, voice strained. “So pretty, Wooyoung. You can’t even imagine how good you feel.”

Wooyoung just moans in reply, feeling tears form in his eyes with the delicious burn of San inside him. The wooden desk is hard against his back and he feels so stretched full that it’s borderline painful, but San’s whispering praise in his ear and reaching down to stroke his cock and everything is so overwhelming that suddenly, completely unexpectedly, he’s coming, shooting white ropes onto San’s abdomen and his own.

He’s buzzing, panting hard and moaning as he clenches around San, the intensity of his orgasm making him tremble.

“Fucking hell,” San groans. “Wooyoung, that was- fuck. Do you wanna stop?”

“No. No, please,” Wooyoung says immediately, and he doesn’t care how desperate he sounds because he needs this. “Don’t stop, you gotta fuck me properly- please, just-”

And San’s hips snap forward, shoving him up the desk a little. Wooyoung’s gasping out choked-off sobs as San’s hands move to grip his hips in place, angling him exactly how he wants him, each thrust precisely aimed to make Wooyoung’s body shudder with pleasure.

This is better than anything Wooyoung could’ve ever come up with in his head, the vague memory of those fantasies getting fucked out of him. His tongue is heavy inside his mouth, he thinks he’s saying San’s name but it’s coming out in incoherent moans and he can’t speak, can’t think beyond how good San is making him feel.

San leans down to kiss him, sloppy and wet, a shared breath. He’s thrusting into him steadily, but with an increasing urgency as the pitch of Wooyoung’s moans rises, muffled against San’s mouth.

The kiss breaks and San leans his face into the Wooyoung’s shoulder, panting Wooyoung’s name against the sweaty skin. Murmuring compliments as he fucks him, telling him how good he feels, how well he’s taking him.

Wooyoung doesn’t realise he’s half hard again until San wraps his hand loosely around his cock, the expression on his face almost awed as Wooyoung jerks in sensitivity, torn between fucking down into or away from the sensation.

“Fuck, San, go harder. I want more,” Wooyoung gasps out, already feeling his body building towards another orgasm, blood rushing through his ears. “Harder.”

“You like getting fucked that much?” San breathes.

Wooyoung just gives a helpless moan as an answer, digging his fingers into San’s shoulders, clinging to him as he picks up the pace and thrusts into him with more force. It’s so good, but Wooyoung wants more, more of this all-consuming pleasure.

“I’m not gonna- b-break, San, go harder,” he sounds dazed, fucked out, completely gone.

“Shit, baby, you’re gonna have to fucking crawl to practice tomorrow.”

Wooyoung lets out a strangled gasp as San rams in even harder, their sweaty cheeks pressing together as San leans down to angle his thrusts directly against Wooyoung’s prostate. He can hear San groaning into his ear, feel the way he’s slowly unravelling as he bites down, hard, against the skin of Wooyoung’s neck.

“I’m not gonna last long,” San grits.

“Me neither,” Wooyoung’s voice is wrecked, hoarse from his moaning, and he can feel tears clinging to his eyelashes. One runs down his cheek, and San catches it against his tongue. “I’m- fuck. I’m close, San.”

“You’re so perfect,” San tightens his grip on Wooyoung’s cock, slamming his hips into him until Wooyoung’s practically sobbing. “Made to be fucked by me.”

“Yes, only by you- more, don’t stop-” Wooyoung is babbling, barely knows what he’s saying, practically shaking apart at the seams.

“Are you gonna come again, baby? Can you do that for me?”

Wooyoung nods, eyes squeezed shut, and then his orgasm is ripping through him violently, making his body convulse and back arch against the desk. He’s barely got any come left, just a slight wetness dribbling out, but the sensations running through him are more intense than anything he’s ever felt.

“Oh, fuck, baby, you’re so good,” San chokes out, sinking in as deep as he can and tightening his grip on Wooyoung’s hips. He thrusts in, once, twice, three times; Wooyoung’s twitching rim clenches around his cock so abruptly that he comes with a deep moan.

Wooyoung is still shuddering with the shocks of pleasure; he can feel San’s cock throbbing inside him as he spills into the condom, pulsing against his inner walls until he’s spent.

Both of them are panting hard, and San is pressing kisses along Wooyoung’s cheeks, whispering how pretty he is against the sweaty skin. They stay like that for a moment, both of them too fucked out to muster the energy to speak.

Eventually, San pulls out, making Wooyoung wince at the emptiness and oversensitivity, although the soothing circles San is rubbing along his skin somewhat lessen the discomfort.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk again,” Wooyoung says when he’s no longer shaking as much.

“Was that too much?” San asks, concern flashing through his eyes.

Wooyoung shakes his head. “It was perfect. Best sex of my life. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to make it to practice tomorrow.”

San snorts, pressing another kiss along Wooyoung’s jaw. “You’re the one who kept asking for me to go harder. I had no idea you were gonna be such a handful to fuck.”

Wooyoung shoves him, trying to hide his amused smile. “Like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I did enjoy it,” San says, then hesitates. “And… I’d wanna do it again, too.”

Wooyoung blinks at him, trying to ignore the way his heart expands at the words, threatening to burst out of his chest. “Good, because so do I.”

San’s face melts into a glowing, dimpled smile. “We better get cleaned up,” he says, but Wooyoung can read the fondness in his voice. “The others will be wondering where we are.”

“Can you carry me to the showers?”

“Fuck off,” San says with an unimpressed look. “You know I’m not strong enough.”

Wooyoung gives a dramatic sigh, allowing San to pull him to a seated position as he gingerly attempts to stand up. His entire body aches, and maybe San hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Wooyoung would have to crawl to practice tomorrow.

“Don’t forget to clean the mirror,” Wooyoung says teasingly, leaning back against the desk and watching as San walks across the room to collect their clothes.

“That was definitely your fault,” San mumbles as he does his best to wipe Wooyoung’s come off the mirror with his own shirt, which Wooyoung thinks is sort of sweet.

“Excuse me?” Wooyoung says, crossing his arms. “What happened to ‘I didn’t say you can move, baby. Hands on the mirror, baby’.” He lowers his voice to a pitch far below San’s real voice.

“Oh, you wanna go there?” San gives up on trying to get the mirror clean, the surface still a little clouded and quite obviously not as reflective as it was earlier. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. ‘I already came once but I’m still demanding as hell. Oh, and I want you to spank me’.”

“That wasn’t even proper spanking. Next time, I’ll bend over and you can have at it,” Wooyoung says, taking a thrill in the way San nearly drops the stuff he’s holding.

“You’re a menace,” San says, passing Wooyoung his clothes when he walks back over to him, and placing the lube and box of condoms safely back in the desk drawer “Let’s go shower.”

“Can we fuck again?”

San snorts as he wraps an arm around Wooyoung’s waist, helping him towards the practice room showers. “No.”

“What, you can’t get it up a second time?”

“I’m worried you might break if we go another round,” San says pointedly. “And, besides, the others will be wondering where the hell we are.”

Wooyoung shrugs, the movement making him aware of how much his shoulders ache. In a good way, though, the soreness a reminder of everything they’d just done. “If you ask me, this was a very productive practice. We really resolved some of the issues we’ve been facing that were challenging our team dynamic.”

“I completely agree. One might even suggest that this was in everyone’s best interests.”

“Oh, definitely. I’m sure the dance instructor will be thrilled that we’ve resolved our differences.”

“Most certainly,” San opens the door to the changing rooms, allowing Wooyoung to step through first. “That is, assuming you’re able to walk by tomorrow so that you can go to practice. And that your voice works.”

“I’ll be fine,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Your dick isn’t that devastating.”

“I fucked you until you cried,” San says, deadpan.

There’s a rush of heat through Wooyoung’s body, and he can’t help but anticipate the next time they’ll get a chance to do something like this. “Okay, whatever,” he says instead.

“By the way, do you own any turtlenecks?” San says suddenly.

“No, why do you ask- you fucking bit me?” Wooyoung stares at his reflection in the changing room mirror in horror. More specifically, at the glaring red mark on his neck that very clearly resembles San’s mouth.

“Sorry?” San sheepishly runs a hand through his hair.

Even though Wooyoung’s concerned about how the hell he’s supposed to hide a fucking bite mark, there’s a part of him that loves how it looks on his skin, a physical memento of what had just happened. A lingering trace of San on his body.

But he’s not about to admit that, so they’re still bickering about it as San uses the shitty citrus rush communal bodywash to wash down Wooyoung’s body carefully, his gentle touches a contrast to his annoyed voice.

“I’m just saying, I’m sure Yeosang would be happy to lend you-”

“And when he asks why I need a turtleneck all of a sudden, then what am I supposed to tell him, genius?” Wooyoung asks, arms folded as he lets San rub shampoo into his hair.

“New fashion choice?”

“Yeah, like he’s gonna believe that. Besides, Yeosang and I don’t even wear the same size-” his words are cut off as San presses a kiss against his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

They stand for a moment in the stream of the shower, lazily kissing. Unhurried and without intention, unlike the earlier kisses they’d shared.

“I like you, Wooyoung,” San says when he pulls back, the words hushed. “Like, not just in a sex way, in case that wasn’t clear. I really like you.”

Wooyoung blinks at him, the shower water running between them, wet droplets clinging to San’s hair and eyelashes. “I… I really like you, too. In a more-than-sex way. Although I definitely want more sex, too.”

San exhales in amusement, dropping his face against Wooyoung’s neck and rubbing his nose along the mark he’d left earlier. Everything is warm and wet and soft, the steamy air and shitty communal showers an unconventional, but nonetheless perfect, backdrop for their quiet confession.

Wooyoung’s heart is full and he’s glad, above all, that he and San are still as close as they were before this happened, able to argue and tease each other the same way they always have. Because Wooyoung wants all of San – even the parts that he finds irritating – and it’s nice to know that San feels the same, and that he likes Wooyoung even though he’s demanding and loud and kind of insatiable.

And it doesn’t even matter what’s going to happen now, whether they’re gonna tell the other members or how they’ll deal with this aftermath, because they have each other and Wooyoung trusts San as much as he trusts himself.

“Let’s go back to the dorms,” San says eventually, seeming as reluctant as Wooyoung to interrupt this intimate moment. They switch off the shower and dry off, pulling on one of the fresh sets of clothes they keep in the changing room.

“You wanna carry me?” Wooyoung asks when they’re ready to go. He’s not as sore as he was before the shower, since San had ended up giving him a sort-of-massage to help soothe his muscles, but there’s a certain ache in his ass that makes him flush a little if he thinks too deeply about it.

“You carry me, dickhead.”

“The one who does the fucking does the carrying,” Wooyoung says, waving his arm vaguely.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Sure thing.”

They walk out into the corridor, glad that the building seems entirely deserted. Wooyoung ends up taking San’s hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek, too fond to let the opportunity pass now that the option is on the table. But San is smiling at him with an equally affectionate smile, so really, it’s all okay.

Amazing, actually.