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It was nice at first. A callused palm strokes across taut cotton, warmth of his chest radiating through the straining fabric. His lip twinges as the hem of the t-shirt sleeve rides a fraction too high under his arm. Fingers hook into the fabric, met with no give, he futility tries to pull it loose. Words from his trainer echo through his head. 'Routine gets results.' Nothing had changed in his chest day routine, loathed as it was, but these results were... rapid. Unexpected.
Hands grab the lower hem of the shirt and wrestle it off; it's thrown discarded on his bedroom floor. Maybe he'll give it to someone, use it as a rag. He'll think about it later.
Turning back to the expanse of mirror, he reaches up to hold the weight of his right pec, fingers gently knead the lax muscle, flesh softly filling the gaps. He thinks of Bom, of Yeorum. He understands them now.
A sigh, and his hand drops, stroking down his torso, body contorting in the reflection. A final look before he searches for another shirt.
Fractured light trickles through the window panes, catching softness of his skin, the glistening on his nipple. He brushes it away with the pad of his thumb.
It was nice at first - until it began to hurt.
Teeth grit against each other as the thud of a dumbbell slamming down reverberates throughout the gym. Two sets from finishing, he collapses to sit on the floor, ripping the velcro of his wrist straps off. Sweat buds on his nose, cool under the aircon. He reaches for his phone to skip through tracks, broken seconds of intros pieced together in a badly-made quilt. His playlist loops, no track feeling right, no melody soothing his frustration. Earbuds are discarded alongside the damp wrist straps. He sips water, free hand subconsciously moving to massage his chest.
"Seok?" His gym partner turns from his own set to see Wonho; he slips his headset round his neck. "You okay?"
Wonho provides a deadpan hum and a thumbs up, before turning to his water bottle.
The clack of a safety latch, the metallic clank of plates settling against each other. A towel is thrown beside Wonho with a muffled thud, swiftly followed by the company of a friend sat beside him.
"You called it quits early yesterday too." He notes, reaching for his own drink. "What's wrong?"
Wonho sighs, letting his body fall limp against his knees. He contemplates lying, fabricating a less humiliating story.
"I'm lactating." A choke from beside him, soft droplets of water landing on his arm. Wonho laughs quietly. "It's insane, isn't it? It's so tender it hurts to move sometimes." He pauses. "Do you think the breast-less chickens are getting their payback early? Oh, or maybe this is dying..." He trails off in thought.
A hand whacks against Wonho's shoulder, his friend throwing himself to his feet catching Wonho off-guard. His friend looks pale, he notes, watching as he runs to the front desk.
Standing with a wince, he follows with a light jog, only for his friend to sprint outside, door ricocheting. The receptionist catches onto his confusion.
"Asked if the bins had been emptied yet - they haven't." She shrugs. "They're round the back."
Gazed fixed on the door still, he hums in acknowledgment and thanks before stepping out into the midday warmth. His posture slacks a little under the sun, less chilled, less hunched. Trailing the concrete pavement, he wanders into the back alley, dodging pieces of trodden-down trash. The hollow metallic clatter of an empty can sounds out, bags rustling.
"Eh?" Wonho calls out, watching his friend stand knee-deep in the dumpster, tearing through plastic sacs. With no answer, he opts to collect the stray pieces of trash thrown from the bin, chucking them back into a corner undisturbed.
"Ah... shibal..." is muttered beside him.
There's a white cylindrical tub in his friend's hands, metallic label wrapped around it. He knows this.
"Oh, the pre-workout you gave me?"
"Yeah, it's uh. It's not-" Swinging a leg over the stained plastic edge of the dumpster, his friend jumps out, eyes fixed on the tub in hand, a stray packet catching on the sole of his trainer.
"So uh, you know we just had twins, my wife and I?" He looks to Wonho, who hums in affirmation. "Well, our oldest is still quite young. She still breastfeeds to supplement her diet. And with the twins... It's, uh, too much for my wife to... produce naturally."
Oh, fuck.
"Unfortunately. The uh, lactation supplement comes in packaging... very similar to the pre-workout you wanted."
"Ah... and I took extra because I didn't sleep well..." A wave of cold washes over Wonho, blood draining from his veins.
His friend reads through the details, mumbling fragments of warnings. 'Not suitable for first time lactation.' 'Extra strength.' 'Only for use by parents who feed 3-4 infants.'
"3... to 4..." Wonho echoes, punctuated with a dry laugh.
A reverberating thud rings out, jarring the elevator Wonho stands in. An arm seperates the doors.
"Finally, I've been trying to catch you all day." It's spoken peppered with a laugh and eye smile, despite the aggression of forcing the metal doors apart.
"Eh? Why?" The click of Wonho's phone locking as he slides it into a pocket.
"Every time I've seen you this past week, you've been wincing. What happened?"
"Ah," He laughs. "I pulled a muscle last week."
"Ah," He nods in understanding, conversation dwindling for a momentary beat of shared silence. "- where?"
Hesitantly, Wonho gestures vaguely to his chest; Shownu immediately begins gently padding his fingers along the muscle, following the flow of tissue under, round, up to his shoulder. Methodical pressure and precise increments.
Shownu's brows knit together, nothing signifying muscle strain under the map his finger tips paint. He laughs awkwardly, endearingly so, a soft 'Do you mind?' as he reaches under the thick fleece of Wonho's hoodie.
He slides his hand up, caught between the sterility of the situation and the context sitting in the back of his mind of knowing how much Wonho's cock weighs against his tongue.
Fighting a path through the creases of Wonho's clothes, he catches the bud of Wonho's nipple, apologising swiftly.
Wonho hisses through gritted teeth. Shownu cock his head.
'How do you pull a nipple...', he questions silently.
Hesitantly, he begins palpating the flesh around his nipple, the plush wealth of muscle that caves in softness until his touch.
It's tender, full, more than it should be. A rare bloody steak, he mentally likens it too. Maybe more like a ripe mango... That sounds better at least, he supposes. But then again, maybe that's too soft, it isn't mushy. Flicking through the codex of 'tender foods' in his head, Shownu startles as a trickle of liquid trails over his thumb. It isn't viscous, isn't like blood or pus. It's like water, like m...
Wonho stands with his jaw clenched, teeth creaking. Blush floods his ears, his cheeks. His vision blurs as tears bud from his waterlines. He doesn't stop Shownu. Instead he simply clings to the spare hand resting on his shoulder.
A solitary ding.
The metal doors part once more and they freeze. Shownu feels the breath Wonho bites down, held. The clack of dress shoes against the metal floor, the taptaptap of a phone keyboard unsilenced. A button pressed, doors shut.
Shownu slips his arm from underneath Wonho's clothes, but rests it lightly on his hip until their floor. Not that he actually knows which floor Wonho was heading to.
***
A bathroom door swings open, slap of a flat palm driving it. Shownu's dragged behind, stress on his shoulder as Wonho yanks him to privacy. A cold silence fills the room when footsteps stop. The hand wrapped with his trembles.
"Ha..." Wonho starts, answering the question unasked. "It's a long story." There's tears in his eyes he tries to laugh away.
"Are you pregnant?"
"No, I- what?"
Shownu shrugs - he doesn't like to presume.
"Might be easier if I was, at least it'd have somewhere to go."
"Does it hurt?"
A timid nod, a scoffed laugh.
"At least cereal won't be a problem."
Wonho rolls his eyes. "I don't eat cereal, you should use it instead." He laughs, before realising the implication. They make eye contact. Silence, quiet ticks of Shownu's watch as a minute or so passes.
"...can we at least do it in a stall?"
"Like when we were trainees?" Shownu laughs, loud and fond.
"Different building."
"That's true," Shownu murmurs, backing Wonho into the sink counter, knocking a cleaning bucket with his foot. "should we break this one in?"
Sturdy arms lift Wonho onto the counter. Soft fragments of protest trail off as Shownu reaches to barricade the door with the mop. He tugs the door thrice, rattling loud but never opening.
Treading back over, he watches the trembling rise and fall of Wonho's chest, burdened with anticipation. He situates himself between Wonho's legs, warm hands rubbing firmly over his thighs in reassurance before reaching for the lower hem of his hoodie. The cotton's lifted - a slow reveal of the soft, plush flesh of Wonho's torso. Shownu reaches to smooth down Wonho's hair, running his fingers through the strands. They're coarser than usual, the gentle frying of comeback hair that leaves frizz abundant.
Leaning back on heels, Shownu takes a moment to look at Wonho, to map every detail, every hue that dances on his skin. He holds Wonho's hips, muscle filling the cup of his palm bountifully. A thumb stretches out to stroke over the mole that rests beside his navel, falling into repetition on the curve's edge. Glancing up, he skips past the fruit that awaits. A single strand of hair falls on Wonho's forehead, a pencil line on paper.
Wonho's eyes cross as he follows Shownu's gaze; bottom lip jutting as he blows the hair away.
His lips are chapped, glow of red lining his lips, small cracks tearing at the supple flesh. Shownu presses a chaste kiss against them, a remedy for ills, kiss for a wound. The lips against his smile, thighs squeezing his hips.
Wonho's chest is adorned with a splattering of blemishes, constellations drawn out in marks, in spots. There was texture to his skin, not of aged leather, but simply proof he was alive: goosebumps forming under Shownu's breath, small pimples dotted across, the blue of veins, the flushed warmth radiating off in waves. Shownu places a firm kiss below Wonho's collarbones, at the top of his cleavage. The thighs around him squeeze tighter.
"Be a good time to have Chex with me..." Shownu murmurs, half-seriously, before tilting his head down. Eyes slip shut as he mouths at the swollen bud of Wonho's nipple. Cushioned from teeth, he pulls it between plush lips, stroking over with the tip of his tongue, soothing it. Sealing his lips around Wonho's flesh, he sucks sharply in; Wonho's muscles tense firm.
It's a reluctant flow at first, drips and drabs that light up Shownu's tongue with sweetness. He reaches up to softly massage Wonho's chest, working with warmth where the bulge of milk glands rest. There's a dull thud as Wonho's head lulls back, hitting the mirror, as his body slouches. Relaxed, his milk follows unrestricted, a sudden spurt hitting the back of Shownu's throat with a cough.
A moan, muffled pathetically with the back of a hand, spills from Wonho's mouth. A small damp patch forming on his lap where his other nipple drips down. He feels beautifully uneven, one side relieved from its tender weight.
Shownu continues content, stroking Wonho's thighs rhythmically, eyes shut, drinking away. It's wordless when he moves sides, the first reservoir dried. Puffy skin slipping from his lips with spit-strings and the light smattering of purple from tiny burst veins.
Wonho's clutches the sink's edge with a vice grip.
There's a sheen of sweat coating his skin by the time Wonho fully returns to his body, eyes blinking back to focus. The man between his legs shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, still latched to his chest, but squirming at the hips. Wonho weaves his fingers into Shownu's hair, pulling experimentally.
Shownu's chest rounds-out with a sharp inhale. Breaking away from Wonho's chest, milk still swirling around his tongue, seasick waves. Leaning up, an eye squeezed shut as a small twang of pain shoots through his lower back, Shownu reaches a hand to cup Wonho's jaw. Rough lips greet his expectantly, Shownu taking the opportunity to feed Wonho his own milk, spilling it into their kiss.
The flood of sweetened nectar startles Wonho, back straightening and eyebrows high. The realisation unfurls; ankles lock, hands cup either side of Shownu's head, holding in place. A muted moan as Wonho throws himself further into the kiss, tongue desperate to claim every detail of Shownu's mouth, every drop of saliva communal.
Shownu's frame shudders with laugh at Wonho's desperate fervour, not that he wouldn't have Wonho right here bent over the sink.
Yet, he pulls away, chin glistening with spit, cheeks flushed ruddy. The air between them is heavy, humid with panting.
"I drank too much," Shownu's voice comes out an octave too low and dances on a breath too thick. "Really need to piss."