Soonyoung pushes through the door of the laundry room—it's in the basement of their apartment block and Soonyoung didn't even know it existed until today—with the side of his body, his hands preoccupied by the huge bundle of sheets he'd stripped off his mattress not ten minutes ago. Ten minutes before that, he'd been lying on that mattress, his sweats bunched around his thighs, and the hem of his tee stuffed in his mouth as he desperately tugged at his cock. His spank bank had come up short, and his mind kept repeating we all gotta do our thing but make sure you’re quick and quiet about it in a voice that sounded oddly like Seungcheol's, which was like, the opposite of sexy, but he'd still managed to bring himself to a release. An unsatisfying release, but an I-have-to-wash-my-sheets-for-this-like-hot-damn release, nonetheless. He won't need to jerk off again for another day, at the very least.
Soonyoung didn't think there'd be anyone in the creepy basement laundry at 1AM. Turns out he was mistaken.
Wonwoo jumps like a cat dumped into a bathtub when the door clangs shuts behind Soonyoung. He turns, slowly, as though he's afraid of what he might see, one hand holding a packet of detergent and the other held to his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hisses, rolling his eyes at the Joker smile Soonyoung's directing at him.
Soonyoung's smile slides off his face, so instantaneously it was probably comical. "None of your beeswax," he drawls, tightening his hold on his bed-sheets. "Where'd you get that stuff?"
"The detergent?" Wonwoo says, a barely-there tremor in his voice. He promptly drops it—the detergent, that is. Soonyoung catches him brush his palm over his face when he bends over to pick it up, and his expression is blank, mouth twitching, when he rises. He jerks his thumb at a plastic basket pushed up against the wall, and turns back to the washing machine without a word.
Soonyoung goes over to the basket and picks up a couple packets, just to be safe. "So, uh, laundry," he says, standing next to Wonwoo so he can use the only other washing machine in here. He supposes he's lucky there isn't just one, because that’d be awkward. "In the middle of the night. As you do."
"Got a problem?" Wonwoo deadpans, elbow-deep in the machine in an attempt to shove whatever it is he's washing into the depths of hell. Soonyoung points this out and Wonwoo repeats, through gritted teeth, "Got a problem?"
Soonyoung opens the lid of the washing machine, peering down into the ominous metal interior, wondering how he's going to fit all his mistakes in there. He briefly contemplates adopting Wonwoo's technique, and then, a metaphorical light-bulb goes off in his head. Soonyoung sneaks a sideway glance at Wonwoo, and notes the bright red flush in his cheeks. His eyes wander lower, and practically bulge out of his head at the tiny wet spot on the crotch of his pyjama pants, barely noticeable if Soonyoung weren't looking for it. Oh. Oh.
"You're awfully defensive tonight," Soonyoung says, grinning. "You might want to go upstairs and try again."
Wonwoo pauses. "Sorry?"
"I said, you clearly got off on the wrong side of the bed."
"Okay, I get it," Wonwoo grumbles, swatting at Soonyoung's arm. "You're not funny."
Soonyoung squeaks, stumbling away from him. "Get your filthy paws off me!"
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Wonwoo repeats, the syllables tripping over themselves, and he attempts to smother Soonyoung’s face with his palm. Soonyoung laughs, shoving Wonwoo away with the last dregs of his energy, and Wonwoo reaches out for one last petty smack against Soonyoung’s shoulder.
For a while, they’re silent, catching their breaths, their faces pink. Wonwoo ducks his head, turning the creaky dial of the washing machine, at the same time Soonyoung rips open a packet of detergent with a triumphant a ha. Wonwoo snorts.
“What,” Soonyoung says, squinting at the settings next to his own dial. Hot? Cold? He’s too indecisive for this!
“This is so weird,” Wonwoo comments, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soonyoung says, and to the washing machine, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“You know what I’m—” Wonwoo cuts himself off, “Oh. Right. Ha ha. I’ll forget it if you do.”
Soonyoung slings an arm across Wonwoo’s shoulders as they watch their washing machines whir away side-by-side. “We’re just two dudes, doing laundry.”
Soonyoung has a problem.
Beds in the dorm are claimed on a first come, first served basis, so technically this particular bed isn’t his but he’s been sleeping on it for three weeks now. Soonyoung practically marked his territory—and well, he did, but that’s beside the point because he washed those goddamn sheets and they smelt like heaven afterwards. Anyway, it was dark and Soonyoung was tired and horny and it was just an unfortunate coincidence that Jihoon’s favourite blanket happened to be on his bed, mere hours after Jihoon decided Soonyoung was his current least favourite member of Seventeen. Minghao would call it karmic retribution, except he’d say it in Chinese, and Soonyoung would have no fucking clue what he’s laughing about but he knows it’s directed at him. Yeah, his life is a joke, suck it, Minghao.
It all started when Soonyoung and Wonwoo were asked to work on a duet together, which in retrospect, was the first sign Soonyoung’s day was going to shit. Every time he looks at Wonwoo’s face, he imagines a dick. He’s seen Wonwoo’s dick, once, and it was only the slyest of glances in the shower, but this dick is hard—it’s ruddy and leaking and the base is held delicately in a hand. The hand is usually still, but sometimes it squeezes, or moves up and down the dick when it’s slick with saliva.
So basically, Soonyoung can’t stop thinking about Wonwoo masturbating and it’s tormenting him, dammit.
“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks, leaning in close. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the practice room, going over the lyrics to I’m a Loner. He presses the back of his hand to Soonyoung’s forehead. “You’re hot.”
“Thanks,” Soonyoung replies, before he can stop himself. The hitch in Wonwoo’s breath is worth it.
“You know what I mean,” Wonwoo protests. “You sure you’re alright? We can take a break.”
YES, Soonyoung is about to shout, I NEED TO GO BLEACH MY BRAIN, but he’s interrupted by Jihoon suddenly appearing behind Wonwoo.
“No breaks,” Jihoon says dryly, arms crossed, “Keep working.”
Soonyoung stretches his arms up above his head, a groan catching in his throat. “Yeah, yeah.” He stage-whispers to Wonwoo, in English, “All work and no play makes Jihoonie a dull boy.”
Jihoon narrows his eyes at Soonyoung. “Congratulations, Soonyoung, you’re my least favourite member of Seventeen today.” That’s a thing Jihoon does. He should start handing out gold stars. Soonyoung would have a hundred by now.
“Phew,” Wonwoo pitches in, pretending to wipe his forehead with a hand when Jihoon’s attention is taken by Mingyu entering the room and just, you know, standing there. “That was a close one. I accidentally used his toothbrush this morning.”
Soonyoung gives Wonwoo a tight-lipped smile, and manages a chuckle that hopefully doesn’t given away the fact that he’s thinking about Wonwoo’s nether regions again. Wonwoo picks up the lyrics, oblivious, and starts to sing.
Anyway, there is only so much fantasy his young mind can take without it physically affecting him. It’s towards the end of the day, when Soonyoung’s mind replaces Wonwoo's hand around his dick with his own, without Soonyoung’s permission, might he add, that Soonyoung decides he’s had enough. He needs to get it out of his system, swiftly and painlessly.
Soonyoung makes his way home with the rest of the boys, and waits until the clock strikes two, or rather Seungcheol starts snoring, to finish the job. He allows himself to dredge up all sorts of shameless, previously-suppressed thoughts about Wonwoo—how broad his shoulders are, how pretty his collarbones would look bruised, how obscene it feels when he laughs into Soonyoung’s neck sometimes and his teeth brush against Soonyoung’s skin. Soonyoung thinks about kissing Wonwoo, maybe he’d giggle and his nose would crinkle when Soonyoung presses him into some corner of the practice room the cameras won’t catch and tugs on his hair. Compared to the sensory overload that was thinking about Wonwoo jerking off, these fantasies are less erotic and more sweet but they’re effective, anyway. Whatever.
Soonyoung ruts into the mattress, a hand squeezing its way into his shorts, imagining it’s Wonwoo doing this to him. He barely muffles the moan that bubbles its way up his throat at that. He props himself up onto his elbows, knees spread, and pulls his cock out, breathing a contented sigh when his thumb rubs against the slit. Two minutes later, with the recurring image of Wonwoo blushing while fisting his own cock at a hummingbird pace, Soonyoung orgasms. Two minutes after that, he realises with a horrified gasp, that Jihoon’s patchwork blanket is unmistakably covered in his own sticky come.
Which brings us to Soonyoung’s current situation: it’s 3 fucking AM and the creepy basement laundry is most definitely haunted and there’s no way he can wash Jihoon’s blanket in the machine without it tearing. It’s handmade. By Jihoon’s late grandmother, no less.
Soonyoung really hopes the laundry is haunted and that whatever spirit is in here takes pity on him and murders him so Jihoon doesn’t have to. He stares at his drying come which, like the Universe wants to taunt him further, landed on a patchwork square depicting a pine tree with wrapped presents underneath. A white Christmas, indeed.
He’s so preoccupied with the irony of his entire life that he doesn’t register the quiet footfall of someone entering the laundry.
“You have to hand-wash that,” comes a voice from right next to Soonyoung. He shrieks, turning to see Wonwoo standing beside him, head tilted as he inspects the blanket.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Soonyoung whispers.
“Payback,” Wonwoo says, shrugging. “Anyway, it’ll be harder to wash out once it dries, so you should, uh, go use the sink over there. I’ll get the soap.”
It’s probably the surreality of the entire situation that stops Soonyoung from questioning Wonwoo and actually doing as he says. He picks up the blanket and takes it over to the sink, turning on the hot water. Wonwoo returns with a bottle of detergent, which he pours liberally into the water, shooting Soonyoung a grin as he does so. Soonyoung just nods, so far gone he can’t even remember how to work his facial muscles. What has he done.
“Why are you helping me?” Soonyoung asks, after a few minutes. Not everyone would be willing to touch their friend’s come disposals, even if it means saving said friend’s ass.
Wonwoo flicks soapy water at him—Soonyoung laughs and splashes even more water onto Wonwoo’s stomach, because he’s like that—and doesn’t answer for a while. When he does, it’s a mumbled, “Just ‘cause.” He kneads the heel of his hand into the fabric and frowns.
“Spit it out, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, nudging his shoulder against Wonwoo’s.
“Um,” Wonwoo starts, biting his lip, “I sort of heard you, you know. And then I followed you down here, which was really dumb and I’m sorry, I was going to go back up, but then I saw you had Jihoon’s blanket. And well, I did the same thing once, so obviously I couldn’t just leave you—”
“You came on Jihoon’s blanket?” Soonyoung interrupts.
“Yes,” is Wonwoo’s strangled reply. “He leaves it everywhere, it wasn’t my fault!”
“Oh my God,” Soonyoung says. “This is gold. I gotta find a way to rub this in his face, the poor guy.”
Wonwoo splashes water onto him, but Soonyoung doesn’t stop laughing. “No, you can’t. You’d throw yourself under a bus like that?”
“Hell yeah, I would. What, fifty bucks to pay him back for this blanket, but the look on his face? That’ll be price—” Soonyoung’s rambling is muffled by Wonwoo leaning over and kissing him full on the mouth. It barely lasts a second but it’s enough for Soonyoung to fall silent, turning beet red. He looks down at the soapy water, and then at the wall, when he catches Wonwoo’s reflection looking curiously at him, and bites the inside of his cheek. Wonwoo just kissed him. What. This isn't how karma works?
Wonwoo is the first to break the silence. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why I did that.”
Soonyoung blinks, his heart in his throat, and decides, fuck it, it’s 3AM, what’s one more terrible decision. He turns to Wonwoo and grins. “Well, why don’t you figure it out, so you can do it again.”
They stare at each other for what seems like forever and Soonyoung’s about to lean in for another kiss, when Wonwoo blurts out, “I keep thinking about you masturbating.”
“Oh,” Soonyoung snorts. “Me too. About you, masturbating, I mean.”
“Well, I wanted to do it to you!” Wonwoo says, his voice cracking, high-pitched and undeniably embarrassed.
Two can play at that game, Soonyoung thinks. “I wanted to kiss you first!”
“I peeked at your dick first!”
“I popped a boner in the studio thinking about you!”
“Seungcheol hyung asked me if I needed some me time when I got hard in the practice room today!”
“Yes, really! And I was thinking about you sucking my dick!”
“Well, I really like you and I think our dicks would make a great team!” Soonyoung shouts. “Dick, to the power of two, or whatever.”
“You’re so embarrassing,” Wonwoo groans, punching Soonyoung’s arm with a wet fist. “I’m so embarrassed, right now. Give me a moment.”
“It’s been a moment,” Soonyoung points out. “So, what do you say? Laundry day tomorrow?”
Wonwoo beams, stretching forward to peck Soonyoung again. “I’m in.”
The next day, Soonyoung and Wonwoo smuggle Jihoon’s damp blanket into the dorm, and because Soonyoung is still determined to watch the world burn, they leave it on Mingyu’s bed for Jihoon to find. Soonyoung gathers every last dirty item of clothing he can find in the dorm and piles it all in a basket to take downstairs. He regrets it by the third flight of stairs because fuck, they really haven’t done laundry in a while, and his spindly teenager arms aren’t strong enough for this. His left arm has like, one muscle!
The thought of Wonwoo waiting for him in the creepy basement laundry motivates Soonyoung to the end, and the second he pushes through the door, he drops the basket to the floor, keeling over with a groan. “You couldn’t have helped?” Soonyoung points an accusatory finger at Wonwoo, who is chuckling at him. “You know what, I’m going to be selfish too. I’m going straight back to the dorm and getting myself off, thank you very much.”
Wonwoo steps over the spilt clothes, and crowds Soonyoung against the wall. “Are you sure about that?”
“Don’t act so devilish, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, voice shaky, “I know you’ve never even kissed anyone.”
“I kissed you yesterday.”
Wonwoo’s hand slides around Soonyoung’s waist, stretching forward, and Soonyoung soon discovers how nice it is to have someone else masturbate for you.
“It’s called a handjob,” Wonwoo deadpans.
“Semantics,” Soonyoung says, “Hey, remember when you said something about me sucking your dick? I wanna try it.”
“Right now.” Soonyoung drops to his knees to make his point clear, humming Feeling Myself under his breath as he pulls down Wonwoo's boxers.
Laundry is his favourite chore, Soonyoung decides, when he gets a mouth around Wonwoo’s dick, the first dick he’s ever had in his mouth, actually, and Wonwoo makes a mess of the neckline of his favourite t-shirt (damn him), and Soonyoung comes inside his pants with Wonwoo’s fumbling hand working over him. They spend the rest of the night doing less getting off and more washing what seems like hundreds of socks with suspicious stains on them—they barely make a dent in the underwear pile—but that’s adolescence, for you.
“Gross?” Wonwoo says. “But sometimes rewarding?”